39 
>py 1 



M&nchestei", N. II, 
1906 




Class __ __y 
Book ^(jVm 

PRKSENTED liY 




Sumner F. Claflin, 

Manchester, N. H. 



CLAFLIN'S 

Red Book «^ Rambles 



BY 



SUMNER F. CLAFLIN, 

MANCHESTER, N. H. 



Legend — Don't ask Posterity to 
print the stuff you "write — print it 
yourself. 



CONCORD: 

RUMFORD PRINTING CO. 

1906 






Aid -j 13;^ 



CONTENTS. 



A Page Dedicatory 

Moving.— The Men One Meets . 

The East Branch Tragedy (illustrated) 

Hampton and Stratham 

Two Fires (illustrated) 

On the Portsmouth Road . 

Benediction .... 

Newfields and Nottingham 

Ten Fingers .... 

" Up Country " (illustrated) 

One Woman's Soul 

Ohocorua (illustrated) 

You '11 be True .... 

In the Penacook Country . 

A Way in a Wilderness 

In the Merrimack Valley . 

The Case of the Poor 

In Classic Exeter 

If They Want To 

Florida and— Seabrook (illustrated) 

The Skunk 

Along by the Atlantic 

Dexter Franklin Rich 

Bound Boys .... 

In Carroll County 

Emma (illustrated) 

Sam Smith of Brentwood . 

Blue Day Yarns (illustrated) 

The Honest Forester . 

Blue Day Yarns .... 

Jury Stories .... 



PAGE 

3 



10 
13 
16 
17 
20 
21 
24 
25 
27 
28 
30 
32 
34 
3.5 
37 
38 

40 

41 

44 

4,1 

48 

50 

51 

53 

56 

57 

61 



ii CONTENTS. 

The Granddad Order 63 

Around the Ossipees (illustrated) 64 

The 'Mobile and the Horse 66 

Snowville and Thorn Hill 67 

Left ! Major Coflfin and Friend Hobbs 70 

Him and Her '^^ 

"From Greenland's Icy Mountains" (illustrated) ... 74 

Relics.— The Salvation Army 78 

Barnum's Amiable Gorilla 81 

In " Hawke " and Vicinity 85 

In Candia, Deerfield and Northwood 88 

A String of Incidents 93 

A Trip " Down in Maine " (illustrated) 96 

A Word Political 98 



LLUSTRATIONS. 



" The Great Stone Face " . 

Scene on the East Branch . 

Scene of the " Two Fires," Hampton Beach, N 

The Mountains from Summit of Chocorua 

" The Beauties of Chocorua " 

The Picturesque Weirs 

An Heirloom 

Wife and Home of the Author 

"The Major" 

The Whittier Pine 

The King's Highway in Stratham, N 

" On the Saco" 



H. 



H. 



Facing 6 
10 
23 
26 
31 

Facing 38 
50 
53 

Facing 64 
74 
96 



A PAGE DEDICATORY. 

To the memory of my father, Preston Claflin, born June 
8, 1833, deceased April 30, 1906. He was noble, kind and 
good, though he never belonged to any church. He was one 
of the millions who are not exploited in the newspapers, 
simply because the simple and unostentatious virtues of life 
are not so unconnnon as to need advertising. He was one 
of the many men and women whose upright lives teach us 
that as this old world of ours grows older it grows always 
better. He saw the good that is in men and women, and he 
thought no evil. Peace to his ashes. 

The Author. 




MOVING.— THE MEN ONE MEETS. 



He Works Five Days and then Moves. — Edward Primrose; 
Moses H. Kogers. 



A busy week? Well, just a little. Kind reader did you 
ever move? I don't mean have you packed your little grip 
or your bachelor's trunk and flitted to greener fields and 
pastures new ; that is easy enough, and it is not to such that 
my earnest inquiry applies; but have you enjoyed the 
sweet anticipation of going to a new abode with family — 
bag, baggage, heirlooms and household goods? Have you 
thought with emphasis as you jammed your fingers in an at- 
tempt to remove that dust accumulator, the best room car- 
pet? Have you groaned in spirit as you surveyed the ac- 
cumulation of old truck that somehow settles down upon 
a man with a family cook stove, or used a justifiable oath 
when the soot from a section of pipe run down upon your 
back? Did you get a load of the best things in the house 
safely on the road, onlj^ to be drenched in a thunder shower 
and heave into port looking for all the world like a wreck 
on a storm-bound coast? If so, then you know how to ap- 
preciate my statement that this has been a busy week with 
me — I have moved and I never, never, never ! want to move 
any more. 

But I have been busy in the field also during the five 
days. The country from Great Hill to the banks of the 
Merrimack at Haverhill, Mass., was explored in the inter- 
ests of the Gazette, the result being most satisfactory. One 
never knows who his friends are till he looks for them, and 
the friends found for the Gazette this week in new cor- 
respondents in some of our strongest towns will be looked 
for with interest in the coming weeks. 



6 claflin's rambles 

My course Tuesday was through South Kingston, where 
Henry P. Collins is the genial and obliging postmaster, and 
through him I learned of Edward Primrose, who lives here 
at the age of about one hundred and ten years, if we may 
believe his evidence. He says he ran away from his home 
in the Island of Jamaica at the age of 13 years, and followed 
the sea until about forty years of age, when he met and mar- 
ried his present wife at Newburyport and settled down. 
He distinctly remembers seeing Napoleon Bonaparte at the 
time he was exiled to St. Helena by the victorious allied 
powers. He does not claim to know his exact age, but it is 
evidently about what we have given. 

I also met, in South Kingston, Moses H. Rogers, who had 
a paper route for several publications, embracing Kensing- 
ton, Plaistow, Atkinson, Kingston, Newton and South 
Hampton some forty years ago, for eight years, delivering 
about sixteen hundred papers a week direct to the sub- 
scribers. He sold out to a Mr. Webster and a few years 
later the practice was discontinued. The plan now pro- 
posed for carrier service in country districts is somewhat 
similar in some respects. 



THE EAST BRANCH TRAGEDY. 



The East Branch roared and fumed and strained, 
Like an angry bull with a ring in the nose, 

All night, all day, had the heavens rained, 
And faster and faster the river rose. 

Down from the camp on the mountain side, 
Came Broncho Dick, with the six-horse team 

Headed for Henry's ; the whip he plied. 
And now and again he eyed the stream. 

The river roared, and the iee fields crashed 
Together and broke in the rushing tide, 

While the untimely lightning flashed, 
And thunder rolled from side to side. 




.:i..i 



J^ 



Scene on the East Branch. 



CLAFLIN S RAMBLES 

In " Devil's Gulch," at the turn of the road, 
The swirling waters eddied and stayed, 

"While out midstream, the ice jam tliroed 
Till Broncho Dick, he was fair dismayed. 

Urge as he would the frenzied team, 
Clear to their girths in the icy wave. 

He could not budge that outfit lean, 
So he turned at last himself to save. 

And just as he climbed the beetling cliff 
Above the gulch and the leaping flood, 

A heavier crash seemed to freeze him stiff. 
And shook the rocks where he trembling stood. 

Gone like the froth on the breaking wave. 
Swept from the road by the mountain stream, 

And into the depths, as into a grave. 
Went Henry's six-horse team ! 



HAMPTON AND STRATHAM. 



The Historical Houses of the Dearborns, the Leavitts' and 
the Hobhs' in Hampton; the Wiggins' in Stratham. — The 
Gazette Representative Cordially Received. 



My way last week was among the manor born residents of 
Hampton. The Gazette, with three regular correspondents 
in Hampton, of course had a right to expect a welcome 
there, and got it in the addition of over fifty new names to 
the list in about three days, while the other three days in 
North Hampton and Stratham were proportionately pro- 
ductive. Our new correspondent at North Hampton is by 
no means a stranger in these columns, has a first-rate repu- 
tation as a careful itemizer, and we feel assured will fill a 
long felt want. 

It is odd, perhaps, that it should happen so, but my first 
night out was spent in a house that had been 200 years in 



8 claflin's rambles 

the family and name of the Dearborns, upon land that 
never was deeded except to its present owner, Hugh Brown, 
in the large west room in the older part of the house. It may 
have been odd, and certainly was fortunate, as Mrs. Brown 
comes of a large family of manor born Hamptonians, 
"given to hospitality" and excellent cooks. My last night 
out for the week was spent in a house and upon land in 
Stratham that never was deeded at all. It was grabbed 
from the "savages" by the "merrie king's men" and en- 
granted to the Wiggins' family (a tract about four miles 
square, I believe), in which name it has remained continu- 
ously ever since, though of course large parts of the origi- 
nal grant have been deeded to others. B. F. Witham leases 
this place, while Bartlett Wiggin, Esq., a direct representa-. 
tive of the original grantees, lives in a very ancient country 
house upon land that has neither been deeded nor leased, 
next adjoining. 

The Wiggin and Foss families are among the oldest in 
Stratham, and the question once propounded by an Exeter 
lawyer to a witness from Stratham in a certain case, "Well, 
I suppose your name is Wiggin," will usually get an affirm- 
ative response. Of course I do not wish to be understood 
as speaking for the entire population of Stratham. There 
are others, you know, the Odells, the Lanes, the Wingates, 
and so on, and they are pleasant people to meet. 

Tuesday was a dull and misty day, spent in Hampton 
village and along the beaches from Boar's Head and Leavitt 
Brothers' comfortable hostelry to J. B. Leavitt 's inviting 
place at North Beach, along the new road, a day in which 
the gray mists massed out on the vast deep and marched 
in upon the land with the swift and shadowy tread of mar- 
shalled hosts, wetting one to the skin, and driving the beach 
population behind their glass doors and windows, secure 
fram the elements, the grand and solemn wash of the great 
Atlantic around the head of the Boar and the silent, swift 
rush of the mist clouds across the marshes and over the 
main, could be most advantageously seen. 



claflin's rambles 9 

The night of such a day was heavy and gloomy, but 
within the comfortable home of Harrison Hobbs on Wind- 
mill Hill, a pleasant party made up the by no means small 
Hobbs family and some seventeen regular giiests, besides the 
writer, passed a very enjoyable evening. The Hobbs family 
is also one of the oldest in Hampton, their ancient homestead 
standing near the present residence of Horace Hobbs, and 
the land they occupy on and near Windmill Hill has al- 
ways been held in the name. 

The first Hobbs to come to Hampton from England, 
about 164:0, was Maurace or Morris Hobbs, and it is said 
he came because he Avas jilted by a fair English maid, who 
at the last moment repented and tried to dissuade him from 
coming, but it was his turn to play the jilting act, and an- 
other "fayre ladie" became the mother of the American 
family. The ancient windmill on the hill was torn down 
years ago, but many of my readers will recall how the boys 
nsed to ride round its great arms and occasionally one 
would get "carried over." Mr. Horace Hobbs showed me 
a desk, made of some massive wood, a hundred and fifty 
years or so ago, and a sword used in the time of the Revo- 
lution by a Hobbs who raised a company of Hampton men 
for the patriot cause. 

Among other ancient timepieces I saw, was one in the 
home of Clarissa J. Sanborn, made by Daniel Wood of 
Newbury port for Woolbridge Sanborn, one hundred years 
or more ago. A clock in those times cost money; time was 
literally money with them ; this one cost no less than $75, 
and there are others that cost even more. 

Not far from here, on the Exeter road, lives friend 
Drake, whose "colt" caused the scribe a little uneasiness by 
his frisky movements till friend Drake explained that 
the colt was 35 years old, and only a little bit kinky because 
of lack of exercise. 

The tallest monument in the Hampton town lot is erected 
to the memory of Godfrey Dearborn, who came over from 
Exeter, England, in 1641. 



10 claflin's rambles 

Wednesday night, after a run to Exeter over one of the 
best bicycle roads in the state, and back into North Hamp- 
ton, I stopped with the accommodating family of Andrew 
J. Marston, whose hospitality, like that of many others, I 
shall not forget. 

In passing, I want to refer to the Perkins' at the "Land- 
ing," so-called. I met James W. Perkins here (who Avent 
to Kansas City, in '66), at J. O. Perkins', Avhere he is 
spending the season. At Elias H. Perkins' I got one of 
those dinners that we always look back upon with regret — 
that they don't come every day. 

In conversation with jNIoses Leavitt, he mentioned that 
for 40 years the Massachusetts Ploughman had been taken 
in the family, an instance of the attachment that is fre- 
quently found among Xew Englanders for the old family 
ncM^spaper. The price may be high, the paper may be very 
different under new managers from what it used to be, but 
if ' ' father took it, and grandfather before him, ' ' no one can 
blame the devoted subscriber for a certain filial, though 
blind loyalty, to the time-honored guest of the family. 

An evening spent with Deacon Leavitt at North Hampton 
was profitable to me as an opportunity to look over the 
valuable history of old Hampton, with its mass of bio- 
graphical and chronological lore. These books should be 
in the hands of every Hampton family. 



TWO FIRES 



What ! Again ? Will wonders never cease ? 

That fire, foretold by Mistress Ellen Brown 
DoNVTi by the ' ' landing, ' ' — may she dwell in peace 

Came at the beach as the other came in town. 

A year ago or more, the gossips say, 

Ma'am Brown was riding by the village school, 
When a rude lad, in jesting play, 

In-\dted the answer we return a fool. 




Scene of the "Two Fires," Hampton Beach, N. H. 



claflin's rambles 11 

" Ma'am Browu ! Ma'am Browu ! I waut to know 

When we shall have another fire ; 
Can ye give me a ticket to the show ? 

An' send me word by wire." 

Quick as a flash from threatening sky 

Ma'am Brown her answer then returned : 
" Next Saturday, lad, and if you go nigh, 

You '11 surely get your coat tail burned ! " 

You who are ^vise in things unseen. 

May tell from whence that true word came. 
But the lad will mind Ma'am Browu, I ween, 

For he burned his coat tail in that flame ! 



There came a man to Mistress Browu 
From Exeter, one autumn day. 

To learn if Fate should smile or frown 
Upon his future untrod way. 

The deep sleep of the medium fell 
On the eyelids of the comely dame. 

And, from the hidden forest dell. 
Her Indian sachem came. 

In crooning tones the ' ' brave ' ' she told 
The secrets he desired to know ; 

Like witch and seer in days of old, 
And she told him true, I trow. 

"And, brave, before the moon again. 
Shall wax and wane in the .sky. 

Five wigwams of the paleface men. 
Flat by the weed-strewn beach shall lie.' 



The slow, October days were almost gone ; 

From Hampton Beach the summer crowds had fled : 
Dame Browu to Mistress Bach appeared one morn 

" To spend the day in gossiping," she said. 

Two dames well met, and eager ran their lips. 
As good dames do, they had a lot to say, 

As from the porch they watched the passing ships. 
Or the trolley spinning on its iron way. 



12 claflin's rambles 

" Say, ma'am," quoth Mistress Bach, "tell me in sooth 
When comes that fire your sachem advertised ? 

I do believe he didn't tell the truth ; 

Think you, Mis' Brown, your sachem ever lies? " 

•' He needs more matches for so big a job. 
And do n't you fear but what the fire will come," 

Quoth Mistress Brown, then quickly said : " It 's odd. 
What mean those smoky clouds that hide the sun? " 

" Oh, that 's the car smoke drifting from the marshes." 
" Not so. Mis' Bach, the cars are miles away." 

"Then 'tis a marsh fire turning grass to ashes." 
" Not so, good dame, my fire is due today." 

And, as she spoke, the telephone was humming 
From Exeter ; the fire lads hurried down ; 

The word went forth that Hampton Beach was burning, 
And teams came racing from the nearby town. 

The sachem's fire had come on schedule time. 
And no man knows the wherefore or the why. 

The facts I give, I spin no theory fine, 
I can 't explain it, and I will not try. 



ON THE PORTSMOUTH ROAD. 



He Jumps In and Out of the "Frying Pan." — 3Ieets 
Former Barkeeper Wlio Has Never Drank. — Visits a 
Near Descendant of Capt. John Locke. — Kept hij a Po- 
lice Commissioner at Portsmouth, and Next at the 
Famous Hotel of the Late Ann Wiggin at New fields. 



A few miles out toward Stratham I passed through the 
neighborhood of the Folsoms of Folsom Kidge. The Fol- 
som farms, under the management now of John F. Pick- 
ering, are among the best in the state. Passing around by 
the left, I visited Stratham Ridge, where most of the wives 
seemed to be off huckleberrying, as half the houses were 



claflin's rambles 13 

empty. AVhen I go there again I'll send a postal, so as to 
find them at home. 

From the ridge I descended into the "Frying-pan," bnt 
did not go from the frying-pan into the fire, as some do. I 
called at the ancient home of the Wingate's and had a 
pleasant chat with J. C. A. Wingate, Esq., who practiced 
law at Concord for a time, and afterwards was cashier of a 
national bank at Concord till failing health compelled him 
to retire. 

When I left the "Frying-pan" I bronght np at Mark 
Garland Roberts' and spent the evening listening to ac- 
counts of travels in the far West, and through the sunny 
South. Mr. Roberts has spent years in those sections, and 
his opinions upon manners, customs and people there are 
those of a well-informed man. Mr. Roberts had scarcely 
returned to Stratham when his fellow townsmen elected 
him first selectman, and a man might as well be mayor, as 
"chairman of the board." Sam Walter Foss, the poet, 
who was born and reared in Candia, now editor of the 
Yankee Blade, in his inimitable poem on the "Selickman," 
did n't half exhaust the theme. It's a dull day when half 
a dozen different matters are not brought to the chairman 
of the board for adjustment. 

Tuesday, I passed through a part of North Hampton, 
calling at John G. Sleeper's, the cider manufacturer, din- 
ing at Eli G. Bunker's hospitable table. Mr. Bunker is at 
present a painter and I am not sure that he would like to 
be advertised as an ex-barkeeper for some of the first-class 
beach houses in this section, but the fact stands to his credit 
that he has stood the trying ordeal of dealing out liquor to 
his thirsty fellow citizens for 13 years without either 
drinking or using liquor or tobacco himself. I doubt if 
there is another such a record in New Hampshire. 

From Little River, bearing to the left, I avoided Little 

Boar's Head, with its numerous summer houses, and passed 

by Irving H. Lamprey's, down into the neighborhood of the 

Philbriek's, the Jennesses, the Browns, and so on. Most 

2 



14 claflin's rambles 

of the beach houses are completely full. The Sea View, 
the Farragut, Hon. David Jenness' cottage and one or two 
others were, so I happen to know, and I began to think 
that I would have to take up with the generous offer of ]\Ir. 
Jenness' hired man, and bunk with him in the barn on a 
camp bed, but fortune has a way of favoring me, and in- 
stead, I stayed in with i\Ioses Philbrick, out of the drench- 
ing rain of Tuesday night, and occupied "the best room." 

Wednesday I visited the Rye beaches, Foss', Jenness', 
etc., and " Locke 's Neck, " near which the great Atlantic 
cable plunges into the sea. Could we follow that cable 
with the eye of fancy, what scenes of Neptune's dominions 
might we conjure out of the gray depths. Away out in the 
bosom of the moaning waters, where the great ships went 
down and the dead mariner clutched it with his pulseless 
hands, "where the monsters of the deep hold carnival and 
wage war; where IMcGinty went to, etc. You see 'tis but a 
step from the sublime to the ridiculous, but there is a really 
good article on Rye and the New Hampshire Coast in the 
July Granite Monthly, from the pen of Lewis K. Lane of 
North Hampton, which all "up-to-dates" ought to read, 
if they have not already done so. I met with an aged pen- 
sioner, Mrs. Alice Brunt Philbrick, out towards the cable 
station and she sent me for the doctor,— that is one of the 
things an agent is expected to do on occasions. I did the 
errand, as I am always glad to when I can. 

On the road to Rye Center I met Daniel D. Locke, who is 
caring for his aged kinsman, Lemuel Locke, 90 years of age 
and slowly sinking towards the dreamless sleep that waits 
for all. Born in Rye, he has always followed the occupa- 
tion of a farmer, is third or fourth, I believe, in descent 
from Capt. John Locke, who was killed by the Indians at 
Locke's Neck. I say "Locke's Neck" advisedly; why the 
naine should ever have been changed because some city 
gentleman happened to come here and buy a piece of land 
and put up a summer cottage is more than I can under- 
stand. It is hoped that the aged Lemuel Locke will sur- 



claflin's rambles 15 

vive to be present at the Locke family reunion, that occurs 
on the 23d of August, at that place. 

I took a spin from the Center out over Breakfast Hill, 
across the Eastern Division tracks, and thence into Green- 
land, from which Portsmouth is an easy side trip, and I en- 
joyed the hospitality of Police Commissioner John E. 
Dimick, not, however, at the police station. I "had a pull" 
with the family, and being one of the few able-bodied men 
who never hankered to "get on the force," I was well 
received. 

Greenland is a beautiful town, of which the Weekses were 
among the first settlers and the Frinks, Hatches, Chap- 
mans, Adamses, and so on, are noted in passing. Bayside 
and Kiverside, two stations near Great Bay in Greenland 
and Stratham respectively, claimed my attention, and I 
Avant to pause right here to predict that sometime the shore 
of Great Bay will be dotted with scores of summer cot- 
tages. Nature has done her part, and henceforth sits wait- 
ing till man shall discover and appropriate her beauties. 

The tollbridge at Newfields over the Squamscott, kept by 
Henry F. ]\Iarden, is about half a mile from the old ferry 
that it supplanted many years ago. In the house built by 
Andrew Wiggin 100 years ago, now the home of Frederick 
A. Caverly, I spent Thursday night. Andrew Wiggin had 
the care of a female Indian supposed to be the last of her 
tribe, who became the wards of the Wiggins' when the 
grant of Stratham was made to them by the English crown. 
The Caverlys are also an old family, iMoses Caverly being 
one of ,the original grantees of Barrington, in 1722. The 
family history, written by Robert B. Caverly of the Massa- 
chusetts bar, and published in Concord in 1879, is an inter- 
esting book. 

Friday night, Charles E. Smith, in Xewfields, entertained 
me in a house that has a history, as most of the older houses 
have hereabouts. Ann M. Wiggin, spinster, kept a hotel here 
for 50 years, and out in the barn in a pile of old truck I 
found the sign, reading "Elm House, A. M. Wiggin, Pro., 



16 claflin's rambles 

1835." The great elms that furnish a refreshing shade 
over the yard and house, and the door, whose latchstring 
always hangs out, are all the signs at present that weary 
travelers are accommodated. 

About three miles out on the Epping road lives Mrs. 
Elizabeth (Hobbs) Hersey, aged 76. Her grandfather, Na- 
thaniel Hobbs, w^ho died in 1832, came from England, and 
raised a company of soldiers for the Revolution, in Hamp- 
ton, using the sword I mentioned a week or two ago. His 
son, Mrs. Hersey 's father, Joseph Hobbs, moved to Ossipee 
and settled there. This information I gleaned from ]\Irs. 
Hersey. Thus one thing leads to another and with your 
consent this thing leads to the end of what to me has been 
an interesting week's ramble. 



BENEDICTION. 



"When the moon is sleeping 
Ou your pillow and your hair, 

My augel shall be keeping 
His constant vigil there. 

No harm shall come a-nigh you 

By starlight or by day, 
My angel shall be by you 

To drive all harm away. 

And, in the dewy morning, 

When my love shall arise, 
With fond thoughts your bosom warming, 

And lovelight in your eyes, 

My augel shall attend you 

From morning until night ; 
With valor to defend you 

And guide your steps aright. 



claflin's rambles 

NEWFIELDS AND NOTTINGHAM. 



A Hot Trip into New fields, Wadleu's Falls and Notting- 
]^am. — Took a Subscriher and Neither of us Spoke a 
Word.—Saiv Some Very Old Clocks.— The Swedes as 
Good Citizens. 



IMonday, August 5, was a scorcher, and the up and down 
nature of the road to Xewfields was particularly adapted 
to bring- out what little sweat there was in me, and hence I 
perspired. Let no thoughtless reader of the Gazette im- 
agine that rambling on a wheel is one long drawn out round 
of pleasure. "Far from it," in the language of Josiah 
Allen's wife, "it is not as easy as it looks to be." 

]\Iy road lay through Rockingham Junction, where the 
network of tracks are insufficiently protected by a single 
bar on one side across the road. There will be an accident 
here yet, and some time the town and the railroad will have 
to rearrange the position of the highway over the tracks. 
As it now is, it is highly dangerous. From the Junction, 
my way was by the Ash Swamp road. I made a brief can- 
vass of Newmarket and spent a pleasant evening with S. 
D. Joy's family. ]Mr. Joy is a radical in sentiment, after 
the writer's own heart in many things, but his selection of 
the Chicago "anarchists" to fill an honorable place on the 
sitting room wall, was rather startling to me. Is it true 
that history will accord them a place beside of John Brown 
and Abraham Lincoln ? 

Wadley's Falls, in Lee, Strafford County, is a beautiful 
place, which ought to be annexed to Newmarket, as its po- 
sition warrants, not as one old resident expressed it, "so 
he could be further from Barrington," but because it is 
nearly surrounded by towns in Rockingham County and 
goes to Newmarket as naturally as the placid waters of the 
Lamprey River run down hill. I was going to mention 



18 claflin's rambles 

C. L. Welch and David L. Langley's fishing experience at 
Pea Porridge Pond, but I might want you to believe some- 
thing I told .you later on, and fish stories induce "that 
tired feeling." 

The roomy and well-appointed residence of Elbridge Mars- 
ton ensconced me Tuesday night, and a call on George W. 
Plummer, Esq., of South Lee, brought out reminiscences of 
several local men of literary attainments. It may not be 
known that the "Greek orator," Messeros, got his first start 
through the kindness of friends in this vicinity, and in the 
height of his career as a public speaker, acknowledged the 
same in eloquent stanzas inscribed "Messeros to Frank," 
(Frank P. Thompson). 

Near AVadley's Falls lives Samuel A. Avery, a veteran of 
a Massachusetts regiment, one of eight brothers : Joseph of 
Kingston, Frank of Farmington, John of Barnstead, de- 
ceased; Stephen of Nebraska, David E. of Barnstead, de- 
ceased ; Plummer and George, killed in battle ; truly a hero 
family, and worthy of a page in history. 

At East Nottingham I took a subscriber and neither of 
us said a word, a feat that was very trying to me, but not 
so to him. He was deaf and dumb, and while the conversa- 
tion was put on the slate, the subscription was not. F. P. 
Bartlett, the person referred to, may be, for all I know, the 
only deaf mute postmaster in the United States, but that 
is the position he fills very acceptably. 

]\latthew J. Harvey of Red Oak Hill, Epping, enter- 
tained me with selections from his forthcoming book of 
poems, a volume of some three hundred pages, now ready 
for the printers' art preservative, and containing some 
really good pieces. Lorenzo Colby I met in his shop at 
C. F. Sanborn's, hard at work building a carriage, despite 
his 82 years of life, and he told me an interesting story of 
a long ago clambake, in which Harrison Rundlett and Jake 
Bartlett were "put to bed," and Theodore Edgerly, a ped- 
dler, was laid out behind the bar before the wee sma ' hours, 
Avhen ]Mrs. Colby was aroused to let in the deponent, home- 



claflin's rambles 19 

ward bound "too full for utterance." Mr. Colby does not 
advise young men to drink in order to live to a good old age 
like himself, however, and I guess his own lapses from strict 
temperance have not been frequent. Certainly he is a hale 
old man, wearing his years gracefully. Mrs. Hannalr J. 
(Roberts) Carleton of Eaymond, aged 85, and Oliver H. 
Bickford of West Epping, formerly of Exeter, aged 85, I 
also visited during Wednesday. 

Wednesday night found me at Josiah Albert Whittier's 
in Deerfield. One night recently ]\Ir. Whittier was roused 
from sleep to find his saw, grist and cider mill, just below 
the pond on a branch of the Lamprey, completely ablaze, 
and without thought of consequences, dashed into the pond 
and battled for an hour with bucket in hand, to save the 
wooden flume from destruction. Mr. Whittier is subject to 
rheumatism, and stated that ordinarily a thousand dollars 
would not have tempted him to do it ; but, strange to say, 
he has sirffered no ill effects whatever from his midnight 
bath in the chill waters. 

Among the ancient clocks I have run across this week, 
one was owned by George F. Healey of Raymond; another, 
at the store of D. W. Whittier, belonging to the grandfather 
of Earl Ladd, and came from Deerfield. These clocks, and 
many that I see, have the trade mark of S. Hoadley of Ply- 
mouth, ]\Iass., though it is believed they were imported from 
England, and the cases only were put on by Mr. Hoadley. 
]\Irs. William ]\I. Leighton gave me some facts regarding 
her delightful farm home, now full of summer guests. It 
seems that her great-grandfather, Nicholas Oilman, bought 
the farm 132 years ago, of Reuben Dearborn of North 
Hampton, and for a time lived in a camp near the great 
rock across the road from the present house, the territory 
being then a part of Chester. 

Around by Candia Island, through the village and up by 
Candia meeting house on the hill, over High Street to 
Charmingfare (the ancient name for all this tract of coun- 
try now embraced in Candia ) , my course lay, and Saturday 



20 claflin's rambles 

I closed a profitable and interesting week by a spin from 
the Hooksett line to tidewater at Exeter. One thing I 
noticed in Candia, by the way, was the number of Swedes 
settling there. These light-haired, gray-eyed people of 
northern Europe, make excellent citizens. They believe in 
our institutions, and find no terrors in the ' ' little red school- 
house. " They are frugal and industrious, and as a rule, 
constant attendants at church. Let us extend to them that 
hospitality that is due to those who are to share the duties 
and responsibilities of civil and industrial association with 
us. It is not wise, in fact, to look with suspicion on any 
class that seek our shores even as our forefathers sought it, 
for civil and religious liberty, and a chance to erect and en- 
joy comfortable homes. 



TEN FINGERS. 



I have ten fingers, counting thumbs, 

And some are long, 

And some are strong, 
And some are very useful ones. 
I have ten fingers, dear, for you, 
And all are tried and all are true — 
Ten fingers, counting thumbs. 

Of which of them, then, shall I sing, 

A glad, sweet song. 

The whole day long. 
And which of them shall be the king ? 
The one, my dear, that wears for you, 
A token sweet, a token true. 
My lady's finger ring ! 



claflin's rambles *21 

"UP COUNTRY." 



Enjoying a Vacation Among the Mountains of the Old 
Granite State. — The Excitement of Summer Boarders 
and Safe Breaking at North Conway. 



North Conway, N. H., August 26. 

I wish my Gazette friends could see what I have seen 
in the last week among these grand old mountains and in the 
Saco valley. I left Manchester Monday morning, and in 
passing Massabesic Lake we heard the inimitable steamboat 
whistle that some enterprising genius has inflicted upon the 
lake sojourners. It is alleged to "play the scale," and it 
does play the dickens with nervous horses. In the night, 
from some remote section of the waters, its unearthly notes 
sound out wdth startling effect, and once heard, it will not 
soon be forgotten. 

At Rockingham Junction I waited long enough to l)e- 
come thoroughly impressed with the lack of accommoda- 
tions for the travelling public, and to wonder when that 
new depot w^ould loom up. The run to Dover was quickly 
made, and the wait for the Portsmouth train to Rochester 
was patiently waited; but it came, as all things come, to 
the man that waits. I changed cars at Rochester (do you 
go to the great and only Rochester fair ? ) and plunged into 
a country which I never saw before. 

The valley of the Salmon Falls River, with the hills of 
Maine to my right, stretched away to the north, and we 
sped by the immense ice houses of Milton and Union, where 
coolness is stored for the dwellers in dusty cities. I also 
saw large piles of poplar logs for the manufacture of ex- 
celsior at these points, and further on at Ossipee. At San- 
bornville, formerly Wolfeborough Junction, a stop is made 
for lunch, and our train was passed by the lake train from 
Wolfeboroush, going south. 



22 claflin's rambles 

Beyond Ossipee the great shadowy summits of New 
Hampshire's crowning glory, — her mountains — massed in 
majestic phalanx against the sky, weird and awful to the 
dweller along the more level coast. As one proceeds, Cho- 
corua first, raises towering battlements on high, and further 
up. Moat Mountain presents a ragged edge against the azure 
blue; then we plunge into the beautiful valley of the Saco, 
and crossing some of the most fertile meadows in the state, 
a mile wide, Ave come to North Conway with 

Mountains to right of us; 
Mountains to left of us; 
Mountains in front of us; 

towering unnumbered. 

Out above Kearsarge post office rises Mount Bartlett and 
Mount Sunrise to the east, while back of them old Kear- 
sarge raises its proud head, conscious of its distinguished 
honor of being the only mountain for which an American 
warship was ever named. On its summit a white boarding 
house glistens in the sun, but, thank goodness, no enterpris- 
ing artist has embellished its sides with alluring quotations 
regarding the merits of pills, bitters and potions in the 
patent medicine line, not even the conspicuous "P. E. A." 
so often seen in Kockingham County, and it is to be hoped 
that no acts of vandalage like this will ever be allowed. A 
friend of mine suggests that what North Conway needs is 
a shoe factory. I don't think so. In my opinion this whole 
section of mountains, lakes and valleys should be kept and 
beautified by landscape gardening for the purpose for which 
Nature evidently intended it — the pleasure of men. Great 
Heavens ! Is there not room enough for shoe factories on 
the sandy reaches of less favored Rockingham and Essex 
without encroaching upon this wonderland of summer 
bowers and enchanting views? 

On Tuesday night my host invited me to a ]\Iethodist 
class meeting in his home, at which five were present be- 
sides his family, two of them ministers, Mr. Whitesides of 
Conway and Mr. Mallory of Boston. It seems that week- 




The Mountains from Summit of Chocokua. 



clxVFlin's rambles 23 

night meeting's are no better attended here than elsewhere. 
The decadence of the country church is a theme, however, 
that I will leave to other hands. 

Thursday morning, about three o'clock, my hostess heard 
a loud report, and in an early morning walk I chanced in 
at the North Conway post office and found the safe blown 
open and the place burglarized of about $560. Someone 
had evidently been studying something else besides the 
beauties of nature. 

Conway has seven post offices, so Brentwood need not 
despair. They are : Conway, South Conway, Redstone, 
North Conway, Kearsarge, Conway Center, Intervale, and 
East Conway. I have visited four of them (in the day- 
time). I also penetrated up the valley of the Saco as far 
as the East Branch House, where I forded the river w^hich 
is here a quarter of a mile wide, a waste of shallow water 
and barren sand and rocks. I got through it, however, 
without smashing the wagon, and enjoyed a drive along the 
west bank of the river, under the beetling clififs of "The 
Cathedral," "Humphrey's Ledge," and "White Horse 
Ledge," which serve as an underpinning for this section of 
Moat jMountain. 

Thursday I visited the Conway Mineral Spring, the 
Washington Boulder, a rock as big as a good sized meeting 
house, that stands in a pine woods in the middle of the Saco 
valley, where it was evidently dropped from the river of 
ice a mile deep t>nt once plunged through here on its way 
to the ocean. 

At Redstone, several ambitious companies are at work 
"lugging off" the mountains to build houses and dress 
streets with, but let not the gentle reader be dismayed ; there 
will be enough of them left to look at for several summers 
to come. 

The Conway coaching parade comes off August 30, and 
after that the summer visitors will scatter like chaff before 
the wind, but the boarding houses here will have reaped a 
golden harvest, though their season this vear has been some- 



24 claplin's rambles 

what shorter than usual. It will pan out about to the 
average, financially. 

Next week I shall visit Upper Bartlett and Jackson, 
which are fully as noted as summer resorts as is North Con- 
way, and lay still further into the heart of the immense and 
magnificent mountains. 



ONE WOMAN'S SOUL. 



The years have brought me treasures, 

That I shall always prize, 
But iioue I prize more highly, 

Thau the lovelight of your eyes. 

The years have yielded houors 
And life's delightful charms, 

But nothing so delicious 
As the pressure of your arms. 

I hope to dwell in Heaven, 

In blissful joys on high, 
But it were gall and wormwood, 

Without my darling nigh ! 

There 's glory in the zenith, 

When the sun flames up the sky, 

There 's grandeur in the tempests. 
As they go roaring by ; 

There 's vastness in the changful sea 
And weirdness in the night, 

But in one woman's soul, my dear. 
Is all my soul's delight ! 



claflin's rambles 25 

CHOCORUA. 



My letter to my Rockingham County readers this week 
may be brief, perhaps not too brief, because I am in a hurry. 
Folks never ought to get in a hurry, but they do, sometimes. 
As I sit at my table by the window, with the Sunday sun 
streaming in, the masts of the shipping in Portsmouth har- 
bor appears over the neighboring roofs. I jumped in here 
in a drenching rain last night from Silver Lake, Madison, 
N. H. 

My second week among the mountains was filled w^ith 
grand sights, especially from Upper Bartlett to Glen Sta- 
tion on the Saco. There is no prettier valley, it seems to me, 
in the world in the summer, than that one. The quietness, 
broken only by the wild shriek of some gigantic Titan 
plunging down from the Crawford Notch over the Frank- 
enstein trestle, right out of the depths of the mountains, 
pulling its train of cars loaded with travelers down through 
this valley to the sea. In the winter, when the storm king 
holds carnival over the towering summits and the wild 
winds sweep blinding cloud billows of snow down through 
the funnel-like valley, it must be awful to see, and awful 
lonesome. 

I went to Eaton after leaving Bartlett. There are two 
roads that go to Eaton and whichever road you take you 
will wish 3^ou had taken the other; that is trite, but true. 
Eaton has a pretty pond and a very pretty village at Rob- 
ertson's Corner, however, that will equal anything in Al- 
pine scenery, with its proper setting of hills and clouds. 

For one whole day I revelled in the beauties of old Cho- 
corua. This mountain rises over Tamworth like a mighty 
sentinel by a sleeping camp, and is one of the very grandest 
mountains in the whole White ]\Iountain region. On its 
grim southern rock front is traced in living green a mag- 
nificentl}^ proportioned cross, and by this sign, among 



26 clxIFLin's rambles 

others, it conquers you completely. A house has been built 
near the top of the mountain (as near as they could con- 
veniently get), where you can spend the night for $2; 
other things in proportion. I am saving my money for 
Christmas, so I did n't go up there. ]\Ir. Sumner Runnell's 
of Chicago, superintendent of the Pullman car shops at 
Pullman, 111., where the great strike was pulled off last year, 
has a summer residence in Tamworth, where he was born. 
Old Elder John Runnells preached here for 35 years, and 
they are now erecting a memorial hall in his honor at Tam- 
worth Iron Works (there are no iron works there, by the 
way). The village will be known in the future as Cho- 
corua, which is a prettier and more appropriate name. 

I met a man here, aged 99, named Rishworth Dorman, 
who went South and got the "shakes" about forty years 
ago, and then shook the South and came back after a year ; 
and has been shaking at intervals ever since. How old he 
would have been if he had n't got the shakes, I leave the 
reader to figure out. I saw another gay youth of 87, named 
Faxon Gameth, who was pulling his peas, about a quarter 
of a mile from the house, when I came by. 

The country seems to be conducive to longevity. Among 
the familiar names I saw besides Smith, which I see every- 
where, was Hobbs. Josiah H. Hobbs is a lawyer at Lladi- 
son and a pleasant and genial man. E. C. Hobbs is a lum- 
ber dealer at West Ossipee. These INIadison and Ossipee 
Hobbs families are sprung from the parent stock at Hamp- 
ton, and whenever you find them you find some of the best 
New England stock. But my time is up and I must close 
for this week. 




The Beauties of Ghocokua. 



CLAFLIN S RAMBLES 



27 




YOU 'LL BE TRUE. 



If I had all the Benjamins 

That grow in all the wood, 
If I had all the arbutus 

So pretty and so good, 
I 'd give them all for yon, my dear ! 

I 'd give them all for you ! 
For I know that you '11 be true, my dear ! 

I know that you '11 be true ! 

If I had all the diamonds 

Rhodesia ever saw. 
If I had all the yellow gold 

That panting steaiu could draw, 
I 'd give it all for you, my dear ! 

I 'd give it all for you ! 
For I know that you '11 be true, my dear ! 

I know that you '11 be true ! 

If I had all the teeming stars 

That deck the midnight sky. 
If I had all the years of now 

And the years of bye and bye, 
I 'd give them all to you, my dear ! 

I 'd give them all to you ! 
I 'd live or die for you, my dear ! 

For I know that you are true ! 



30 claflin's rambles 

"mute inglorious" obscurity. At Salisbury I saw the resi- 
dence of Senator Gallinger, by the quiet street, made more 
quiet than usual from the fact that everybody had gone 
to the Warner fair with his family or his best girl, and the 
village was largely deserted. I followed the old turnpike 
from here to Boscawen Plains, Avhich, years ago, when 
"Boscawen did more business than Concord," used to echo 
to the steady stream of traffic and travel of the old stage 
coach and freighting days before the steam cars had 
robbed the turnpike of its glory. This pike ran from Bos- 
cawen to Lebanon, some sixty miles, or more, over hill and 
dale. 



A WAY IN A WILDERNESS. 



I blazed a way in a wilderness 

Of creeds and dogmas grown in the past, 
Straight was that way as a line stretched out 

As is the line of a plummet cast. 

And I walked that way with a calm content, 
For my mind and conscience were well at ease, 

And I feared nor fawned to foe or friend 
1 would neither hurt nor please. 

My way was simple as duty's call. 

And the myths and fables of faded years 

Swept away like the wrecks on swollen floods, 
And joy took the place of tears. 

And the feet of my soul walked in that way. 
And my eyes looked away to the soul of God, 

And my hands reached out and grasped the fruits 
That forever spring from a virgin sod. 

For my thought was free to measure truth, 
And my mind to test each rising claim. 

But measured and tested, the balance just 
Should rest forever the same. 

I blazed me a way m a wilderness. 

It was only nni way to the life of grace. 

For others have walked in the self-same quest 
And arrived at the self-same place. 



32 claflin's rambles 



IN THE MERRIMACK VALLEY. 



As the Piscataquog River winds down from the wilds of 
North Weare it is joined by a branch from the southwest 
that rises somewhere in Francestown and flowing through 
New Boston, adorns the valley in Avhieh that snug village 
is ensconced. About a year ago the New Boston railroad 
was built from Parker's station on the North Weare branch 
of the Concord road and nothing now seems Avanting to 
make it a cosy and beautiful summer resort. 

I met here a blind man named Benjamin F. Whipple, 
"vvho was shattered by an explosion of gunpowder in the 
days of the Lincoln and Douglas campaign "before the 
war," limbs mutilated, fingers torn off, eyes put out, body 
scarred in a dozen places. A sympathetic old lady looked 
him over, on one occasion, and then inquired, "was you hurt 
anywhere else?" On being assured not, she ejaculated, 
' ' How thankful you ought to be ! " Did you ever notice 
the trait of patience and quiet happiness apparent in all 
blind men ? My grandfather was blind for 40 years, a col- 
league in Manchester of the well remembered "Blind 
Libby" and also of Mr. Whipple, the latter being the only 
survivor. People who see less, think more, and more 
wisely, perhaps, than we who are easily excited by sights 
as well as sounds. 

I met the author of "Tenting on the Old Camp Ground" 
and other stirring popular songs of a quarter of a century 
ago, recently, Mr. Walter A. Kittredge of Merrimack. He 
is now a somewhat feeble old man of 75, living quietly on 
his broad acres, surrounded by appreciative friends and 
neighbors, who are proud of having a man of national rep- 
utation among them. He is the author of several books 
and still writes occasionally for the press. 

I passed through Northwood in the extreme northern part 
of Rockingham County, one day last week, and found it 



claflin's rambles 33 

very quiet indeed. The shoe shop of the Towle's is a heap 
of bent pipes and ashen walls and the people along the once 
prosperous village street are talking of removals to more 
promising fields of labor. There is some talk of rebuilding 
but nothing positive can be stated till the insurance has been 
definitely settled. If Northwood loses its shoe industry, it 
is hard to see how property values and the prosperity of the 
town can be maintained. 

From Xorthwood my course lay through Pittsfield and 
Barnstead,the present terminus of the Suncook Valley Rail- 
road. In Pittsfield the shops are running and business is 
fairly good. At Barnstead, the lumber mills are being- 
operated, l)ut the shoe shops, the main business of the town, 
are temporarily idle. The night I was there a barge load 
of mine host's family and neighbors participated in a corn 
husking. The red ears were brought out from their hiding 
places at the proper time, the corn (about three hundred 
bushels) was duly husked, the floor cleared, music, dancing 
and a "bang up" farmer's supper of pumpkin pie, baked 
beans, pickles, pastry and ' ' fixin 's ' ' were enjoyed by half a 
hundred guests until long towards morning. Oh ! there 's 
nothing like it, and effete aristocracy of the city are not in 
it when it comes to a wholesome and wholesale good time. 

Coming down over the Suncook Valley line isn't the 
pleasantest thing in the world, as Bill Nye would say. The 
road seems to be warped all out of shape and it takes abso- 
lute confidence in the management and a blind faith in an 
overruling providence to enable one to hang onto his seat as 
the cars go jerking and lurching around the wild and woolly 
curves towards the main line at Hooksett. 



,^ r^-a--^ 




34 claflin's rambles 

THE CASE OF THE POOR. 



Something they lacked 

In their elegant leisure. 

There was a yearning 

Still unsatisfied, 

A ghost of unrest 

In the midst of their pleasure, 

Cankering their portion 

And mocking their pride. 

Among the bowed masses 
Of toiling and striving ones 
The spirit of unrest 
And bitterness lay. 
Toil had no voice 
To publish its age-old wrongs 
Nor ever had learned how 
To brush them away. 

" Pray, what do you want? " 
Asks the pleasant old gent. 
Who has lived an easy life 
On his "Twenty-five per cent." 
And " Wliat do you want ? " 
Asks the innocent soul 
Who fattens from the profit 
On the poor man's coal. 

" Say, what is it you want? " 
Queries Uncle Simon Pure, 
" My elegant cheap tenements 
Are good enough, I 'm sure ; 
And nobody can help it, 
If, in the course of trade, 
From sugar, oil and flour 
Our millionaires are made." 

The preacher and the teacher 
And the men who sling the pen 
All fall in line and whisper 
That the problem staggers them. 
" And, really, brother workingmeu. 
Our class would like to know 
What your class deems .sufficient 
For your station here below? " 



claflin's rambles 35 

The toiler briefly pondered, 

Aiid briefly made reply, 

Not wasting Avords to tell them 

The long tale of misery : 

" Friends, would you really listen 

To the message from the poor? 

Would you apply the remedy 

For all the ^^TOugs of yore ? 

' ' Would you stop the awful slaughter 
Where your millionaires are made ? 
Would you make the rule of justice 
The rule to govern trade? 
Then let me tell you plainly, 
As one who deals in facts. 
We expect you generous people 
To get down off our backs." 

The nice gent wiped his eyeglass 
And opined 'twas too absurd. 
And the innocent coal dealer. 
He never said a word. 
While Uncle Simon stroked his chin 
And " Thought the hairbrained elves 
Without the rich upon their backs 
Would go and ruin themselves !" 



IN CLASSIC EXETER. 



I've been boarding round, this week, in classic Exeter, 
among the best families in town, and can testify to the 
quality of hospitality in the character of your people. The 
result has been that over one hundred and seventy families 
are now taking the Gazette who did not a week ago. It is 
curious what numbers of people go without any home paper 
because, and only because, they have not been approached 
on the subject of subscribing. 

]My observations of Exeter have been varied, and at times 
amusing. Every canvasser, for instance, has a considera- 



36 claflin's rambles 

ble acquaintance with that important personage, the family 
dog. Some very good families persist in keeping some very 
poor specimens of mangy, flea-ridden, homely and dirty 
looking canines. There is the big mastiff that leaps at you 
from his lair by the side door with a roar that jars your 
hat off, the ugly looking wolf dog, that approaches you 
showing his yellow fangs and growling like a gathering 
thunder storm among the hills. Then there is the snarling 
pup and the yawping spitz and dogs of all degrees of sav- 
agery, together with the really useful watch dog, who barks 
two or three times on your approach as a warning to the 
household, critically sizes you up, and then keeps his eye 
on you to see that j'ou don't carry oft' the front gate. A 
dog on Vine Street wasn't satisfied with looking me over, 
and tried to bite a chunk out of my leg, as a sample, I sup- 
pose, but he didn't succeed; my summers and winters 
abroad have rendered me tough. I was sorry for the dog, 
however, he looked so disappointed, and I know he won't 
try it again. 

I saw on Front Street the stone erected on the spot where 
George Whitefield, the noted evangelist and founder of Meth- 
odism in America, preached his last sermon, September 29, 
1770. The street is lined with great elm trees and as I 
passed beneath their classic shade retrospection peopled the 
campus and the adjacent academy grounds with the frol- 
icking boys and girls and the staid men and matrons of long 
ago. How the years glide by eternally and these great trees, 
can they see and hear and know the generations as they 
pass beneath them? Daniel Webster, the venerable Benja- 
min Abbott, virtual founder of the school as Phillips was 
its originator. Palfrey, Everett, the unique Ben Butler, and 
scores of others made famous by their qualities of character 
and the fortunes of the times in which they lived: are the 
boys of today to furnish us with names as illustrious? 

Exeter in form is like a half opened fan with the handle 
resting on the banks of the crooked Exeter River and the 
opened edges reaching out into the plains beyond the Bos- 



claflin's rambles .37 

ton aud iMaine Eailroad tracks. Portsmouth Avenue and 
High Street forming' the tastles, while naturally the business 
end is near the bridge, one of the very oldest market places 
in New Hampshire, as Phillips Exeter Academy is the old- 
est chartered school in New Hampshire (1782). The 
people are mainly American and owing to the de- 
velopment of the shoe and other industries the town 
is now receiving" accessions from other places, and 
at the west end considerable building is going on. 
It is curious, but true, that a canvasser will find peo- 
ple within a stone's throw of each other, the one family 
just about to move to Haverhill, for instance, in search of 
employment in the shoe business, the other family, just from 
Haverhill, seeking the same employment here. There must 
be a fascination in moving. One should be very sure he 
Avill better himself or else very much "stuck on the job," as 
there is but little or no monev in it. 



IF THEY WANT TO. 



If women want to vote, 

My brother, what say you ? 
Have they ever been found wantiug- 

Is woman's heart untrue? 
Where dwell they in the city 

Or dwell they in the town, 
By hearthstone and by altar, 

They build and not tear down ? 

They walk with us in pleasure, 

They walk with us in pain ; 
If we fall they fall with us. 

Into the depths of shame ! 
And as we work together 

Let us together plan 
The building of the future 

For woman and for man ! 



38 CLAFLIX'S RAMBLES 

FLORIDA AND-SEABROOK. 



Facts About Florida. — The Old Gove House in Seahrook. 
An Old Stage Line. — Other Historical Matters. 



One of Exeter's many successful teachers was Benjamin 
Thompson, who for 14 years taught a grammar school 
there. I met one of his sons, John L. B., in Hampton last 
week. I also had a pleasant after dinner chat with ]Mrs. 
A. E. Drake, who for years has spent her winters with her 
family in Pomona, Putnam County, Florida. Pomona is 
15 miles from Palatka, on the Jacksonville, Tampa and 
Key West Railroad and was incorporated in 1895. It is 
one of the few places in Florida where good water can be 
had, as it is located on the high pine land. The people are 
all from the North and of course the color line is rigidly 
enforced. You take a lot of Northern Abolitionists and 
colonize them in the South and they soon learn to love the 
black man — a good ways off. It's curious, but it's so. 

Speaking of Florida, I'd like to be down there this cold 
weather and write you a few letters redolent with orange 
blossoms and the breath of the festooned groves. Not 
oranges with icicles attached, such as they had there 
recenth^ 

J. Ed. Sanborn of Hampton Falls informed me that his 
apple crop was larger than last season, but there are not 
many taken that way around here. 

As I stood in the yard talking with ]\Ir. Sanborn, a road 
race from Amesbury to Whittier's Hampton hotel swept by, 
between a trotter and a pacer, owned by John Bakie and a 
Mr. Ready of Amesbury. I understand the pacer won, 
though an enthusiastic individual put his money on the 
referee, who with several carriages, passed about the same 
time. 

A call on Gen. Charles A. Nason found him heartv as 




An Heirloom. 



claflin's rambles 39 

usual, and interested in bringing up his salt marsh hay for 
winter use. The hay comes from Hampton marshes, where 
thousands of acres of level land is submerged by the tide 
each day. This land is owned in lots of varying size bj^ 
farmers among the neighboring hills, who cut and stack it 
in mows on piles above the reach of the tide and get it away 
by means of gondolas and w'agons. Home farmers secure 
from forty to fifty tons, though since the cost of labor has 
increased, it is not so popular as a feed as it used to be. 

Among the ancient things I saw this week was an earth- 
ern vessel, owned by ]\Irs. Sarah E. Gove of Seabrook. Mrs. 
Gove lives in the identical house built by Edward Gove 
about 1650, not far from the present Parker hotel, he being- 
one of three brothers who came over here from England 
about that time. The house has three brick fireplaces, an 
oven and boiler of ancient make, not now in use. The 
earthern vessel alluded to is also out of use, as it was un- 
fortunately cracked in the hands of a Quaker lady named 
Hussey, who was massacred during an Indian raid in 1703. 
She broke it when she fell. I don 't know but I have given 
you the same impression the fellow had who fell down 
stairs with a pitcher of milk. "Did you break the 
pitcher?" inquired his wife, in evident solicitude, as the 
poor man gathered himself up, "Xo, but by gosh I will," 
and he did. 

The Amesbury and Exeter stage line is among the few 
that the advent of railroads did not break up, and one of 
the oldest in the country. As the road winds between the 
Kensington hills near Lamprey's Corner, it passes the 
pleasant home of J. W. W. Brown, whose father, Capt. 
Henry Bro^^^l, was for many years a sea captain and com- 
mander of vessels sailing out of Portsmouth. I saw his 
ancient rosewood writing desk, about eight inches deep by 
16 by 24, and fitted with everything a travelling man 
could desire down to thimbles, thread and extra suspender 
buttons. 

A picture of the good ship Pallas, sailing out of the har- 



40 claflin's rambles 

bor of Marseilles, France, into the broad waters of the Med- 
iterranean, under a July sun, in 1829, adorns the sitting 
room wall. Also a lifelike portrait of Captain Brown, 
painted by the celebrated Paris artist, Scrolly, about that 
time. The captain died jNIarch 3, 1871. His. son, who was 
in the ill-fated Custer's Brigade at Appomatox, recalls the 
historical fact that at the moment when Custer's boys were 
just about to charge a portion of the enemy, a courier came 
riding up with the information that Lee had surrendered. 
"It must be unconditional surrender, or I'll put my dogs 
in there," replied Custer, and that Avas what it amounted 
to, though the brave Custer was doomed to die, fighting 
merciless savages on the plains of Dakota, years afterwards, 
where there was death most grim, but no surrender. 



THE SKUNK. 



On high old Luua shoue, 

The babuy air was still 
Beneath the starry-spangled dome, 

On every vale and hill. 

Had passed the summer rain. 

The lightning's flash and roar, 
The leghorns with the mother hen 

Were by the farmhouse door. 

Like spectre of the night, 

A white streak moving by, 
What was it in the moon's pale light 

The hencoop that drew nigh ? 

Woke by the summer heat 

To note nocturnal sound, 
What means that frightened cheep, cheep, cheep, 

I hear in night profound ? 

Again and yet again, 

Five times in one short night. 
There is a hakus with the hen 

That sounds much like a fight. 



claflin's rambles 41 

To take things as they come 

Is well, and wheu they go 
To smile and of complaint have none 

Our self restraint will show. 

But wheu the tender chick, 

So toothsome and so tame. 
Is swiped in such a measly way, 

I vow it is a shame ! 

We do our level best, 

Our old hen shows her spunk. 
But five of nine, it figures up, 

Were gathered by the skunk ! 

Such luck, indeed, is tough 

For all our toil and care, 
And I allow 't is quite enough 

To make a deacon swear ! 



ALONG BY THE ATLANTIC. 



Another Old Powder Horn. — An Old Soldier on His Way 
"Home." — The Life Saving Station at Rye Beach. — The 
Story of Breakfast Hill. — A Stratham Veteran. 



Some one has very wisely remarked one thing' leads to 
another. I've noticed it myself, and it is no surprise to 
me that I fonnd the mate to Hugh Johnson's 1757 powder 
horn in the possession of Uriah Lane of Stratham as I went 
out on the North Hampton road last week. It was un- 
doubtedly a Eevolutionary relic and bore the name of 
Thomas Lane, North Hampton, also January 25, 1775. 
Thomas Lane taught writing school in Hampton for many 
years, and while the writing lacked the easy, graceful 
curves that mine is distinguished for, I should n 't have hesi- 
tated to take his note, properly secured, in that 
chirography. 



4i! claflin's rambles 

The home of Mrs. ]\Iary C. Chase, where I passed the 
night, is on a ridge right across from the Exeter and Hamp- 
ton "Bride Hill Road," and the well-known red brick 
schoolhouse where Mrs. Chase taught several terms of 
school. Her father, Henry Elkins, moved here from the 
paternal property of the Elkinses, the Jeremiah Elkins 
place, the house now occupied by Mrs. Patterson, and here 
he died in 1870, in a most singular manner. He had been 
to Seabrook for hay, after the burning of his own barn by 
lightning the summer before. 

It was a cold fall day and Mr. Elkins, chilled through by 
his long ride, left his hay at the barn near by and took the 
horses up past the house to the little woodhouse, being tem- 
porarily used as a stable. There was a hay loft in it and 
wide stalls. Mrs. Chase waited patiently for her father for 
a long time to come in and eat his dinner, but as he had men 
at work in the woods getting out the frame of a new barn, 
she supposed he had gone there. At last little Nellie went 
out to the stable and came in in the wildest alarm, 
"Grandpa was awfully hurt." 

!Mr. Elkins was found with his face, hands and body 
streaming with blood, bruised and cut horribly, and an ugly 
fracture of the skull. His sightless eyes protruded from 
his head, blindly seeking for the door of the stable. How 
he could have become so terribly lacerated except by re- 
peated falls, no one could tell. He died in about three 
weeks, but was never able to tell his friends how his in- 
juries were done. A brother, David Elkins, was killed by 
falling from the beams of his barn, some time before this. 

I met an old chap on the Portsmouth road, walking 
slowly towards the city by the sea with the aid of a stout 
stick. His hair was curly and iron gray, his overcoat was 
buttoned close up to his chin and I opened upon him as a 
prospective subscriber to "the best paper in the county." 
' ' Say, stranger, is this the way to Togus ? I 'm going to the 
Soldiers' Home; lost my ticket in Boston. I'm from Bing- 
hampton, Mass." My interest in the paper question 



CLiVFLIN's RAMBLES 43 

dropped suddenly, but my interest in the grizzled old vet- 
eran went up in proportion. Poor old man, trudging pain- 
fully along; once he marched away to the music of fife and 
drum, to face whatever the fortunes of a bloody war might 
bring him. Honor and protection is due to those brave 
men while they remain with us, and that war is 30 years 
away. How swiftly history is making! 

From the pleasant home of INIr. and ]\Irs. Orin C. Corey 
my course lay around the point of Little Boar's Head, 
where the sea in front shone like burnished silver so brightly 
one could not look at it. The view was magnificent, but 
empty houses and deserted streets will be the order of the 
day till the roses bloom in June. I found a little more life 
at Rye Beach, and some improvements are under way. 

On the cable road I called on C. 0. Philbrick of the 
Washington House, who has grown up in the summer 
boarding house business, and has taken the Gazette ever 
since it started. On Locke's Point, Capt. A. L. Remick and 
the seven members of the life saving crew were practicing 
their morning evolutions and I was interested in watching 
the operation of firing a line over the mast of a suppositious 
ship in distress, and the imaginary saving of the crew and 
passengers by means of a moving basket over the said line. 
In all the years since the station was established I am told 
that no life has been saved, and Avrecks are few and far be- 
tween, but the boys have to he ready for business just the 
same, though it is little wonder if they become expert card 
and checker players ; there is little else to be done. 

I met Mr. Squire of the submarine cable station and 
gained some interestiiig information about the place and 
the manners of some of the visitors, Avho seem to take the 
station for a public museum, run as an annex to the summer 
boarding house business. There are others, of course, but 
this class make life a burden to the gentlemanly employes. 

The author of ''New Hampshire, a Slave State," might 
be interested to know that Samuel IMarston, an uncle of 
Jacob Marston, bought two slaves in Cuba and placed them 



44 claflin's rambles 

on the Marston farm, near Breakfast Ilil], in 1837. Slavery- 
was abolished in this state soon after, however, and since 
then even Frank Jones has found that the lash of the slave 
driver was not as effective as "throwing down a little corn" 
in securing the faithful services of some people. 

Oliver Berry told me of the origin of the name "Break- 
fast Hill. ' ' At the time of the Indian raid, when Capt. 
John Locke was killed, a number of prisoners were cap- 
tured in Portsmouth and taken to this hill, where in the 
morning they w^ere picketed on the Exeter side, while the 
Indians camped on the other side, for breakfast, expecting 
the whites would pursue from that way. The whites, how- 
ever, came up from Exeter, and first securing the prisoners, 
fell upon the camp and surprised the savages so that they 
left their dishes hewn in the rocks right where they were, — 
and the school children sav they are there vet. 



DEXTER FRANKLIN RICH. 



A Letter to his Parents from their Brother. 

There is a time for joy aud a time for grief, 

But your grief seems indeed untimely, 

The eldest, the first boru, the best aud the truest ! 

He ou whom, perhaps, you most depended : 

" Fell on sleep." Strong hands folded forever 

According to this eartli, but God knows — 

God knows the rest of the story ! 

Let us trust Him my dear, grieving sister ! 

My gray, silent brother, trust Him ! 

He saw the sparrow fall in the twilight ! 

And the poor lamb that strayed in the desert ! 

He does not willingly afflict us, and try us ; 

And He gives His strength to His children 

In the day of their visitation ! 

His ways are not our ways — not our ways ! 

And whom He loves well He chastens: 

Think brother, think sister, remember 



claflin's rambles 45 

That you have uo poisou, no bitterness 

In the dregs of the cup you are given. 

His was a brief but a good life, 

And his memory shall rise as a savor 

Of life unto life, as a blessing 

To whomsoever has known him ! 

For who ever found him with brawlers, 

Or drunkards, or wanton carousing? 

His mind was free from guile and his heart 

Pure as the free winds of morning. 

A friend he who showed himself friendly. 

And ready to aid in full measure 

Any who sought him in trouble. 

I had rather be dead, now, as he is 

Sleeping the sleep of a just man. 

Than grown gray in ill-gotten heapings 

Of plunder, or treading dark ways and evil. 

Now my gray, silent brother, take heart. 

Sister mine, God loves you too dearly 

To smite, without sweet balm in Gilead — 

To take from His loved, without recompense, 

And whatever He does — It is well ! 



BOUND BOYS. 



A Hampton Falls Man and a StratJiam Man tell Claflin of 
Their Experience When They Were "Bound-out" Boys. 



Before the war the custom of taking the boys (and girls) 
of poverty-stricken or deceased parents to "bring up," was 
more in vogue than it is now. There are many institutions 
where orphans are now cared for tllat had not then been 
thought of, and probably, also, there are laws which relate 
to the treatment of such wards which render their condition 
more tolerable and secure. There certainly is a sentiment 
abroad which it would not be safe to disregard, but the con- 
dition of the bound boy, especially before the war, was not 
one to be envied. 

I have met recently, by chance, two men whose experience 
in this line would fill a volume. One of these is Mr. J. Ed. 
4 



46 claflin's rambles 

Sanborn of Hampton Falls, living in a well-appointed farm- 
house surrounded by orchards of apples, peai's, peaches, 
plums and grapes, and so many acres, besides, as he cares 
to till, a retired plumber and gas fitter, he is enjoying the 
fruits of a busy and well spent middle life. Of his boy- 
hood he said that, at an early age, his father and mother 
died, and he was taken by a stranger up into Central New 
Hampshire, where he was cared for much like a tramp cur, 
fed on the leavings, half-clothed, kicked, cuffed and 
pounded on the flimsiest pretexts and with great regularity 
and frequency. 

Twice he tried to escape ; once, when he was 12 years old, 
he got several miles from the house of his master and near a 
schoolhouse he was overtaken. School was in recess, and 
as his infuriated pursuer arrived there "he called to the 
boys to chase me," said Mr. Sanborn, telling them I had 
run away from home (home, indeed!). They chased and 
caught me, and my captor took me back home in front of 
him, whipping me all the way along the road. As we came 
into the dooryard, he came up behind me and gave me a 
fearful kick, from which I have suffered ever since. I was 
stunned momentarily, but when I got up he made me go 
into the house and get his 'wibbins' or reins, and taking me 
to the barn, he pulled me up by the wrists to the rungs of 
a ladder, and stripping me to the waist, belabored me till I 
was insensible, with a rawhide. 

"Some time later I made another attempt to escape, and 
was successful by the aid of friends, who told me what my 
name was and hid me till I could communicate with some 
relatives, and afterwards I was assisted to learn a trade. 
Years afterwards I found out where my old master was 
living, and went to see him, but he did have intelligence 
enough to be ashamed to meet me, and got away from the 
house on some excuse, saying he would be right back, but he 
didn't come back, though I Avaited patiently for him, and 
I have never seen him since." 

Mr. Horace J. Willey of Stratham, was born, I think, in 



claflin's rambles 47 

Portsmouth, but lost his parents at a very early age, and 
was "taken in" by a man from Farmington, who seemed 
to think that bound boys were a dispensation of providence, 
designed especially for the lordly caprice of their captors, 
to knock about and use for working machines as soon as they 
were big enough. "He had a wife," said Mr. Willey, 
"who seemed to hold about the same views, but whom her 
worser half held in considerable fear. His Nibs had a field 
of potatoes back of the barn and he used to take me, man 
Friday like, out into the field when I was nine or ten years 
old, to hoe them, and with many admonitions as to what 
I'd get if I did n't do my stint, leave me toiling among the 
tubers, while he spent his time 'cidering' at the saloon. 

"When it came noon, his Nibs would saunter up to the 
field, yell for me to come up to dinner, and, as we went 
away and came up together, ]\Irs. Nibs gave her liege lord 
credit for more industry than he deserved. One night he 
had given me a 'stint' that I should not expect a grown 
man to do, and as the shadows settled down over the land- 
scape I was still at it, tooth and nail, with five or six long 
rows still to hoe. His Nibs had been 'cidering,' as usual, 
and coming into the field at dusk, was wroth at my failure 
to finish the stint, so, creeping up behind me, he gave me 
my first knowledge of his amiable presence with a cruel 
whack of his club. I was divested of everything but my 
scanty shirt, to facilitate my work, and as I leaped up in 
terror, he caught me by the neck and soon tore that from 
me. I then made a break for the house, he in close pur- 
suit. 'Don't go in there,' he bawled, 'go in the barn.' I 
went in and had just pulled on a pair of old overalls, when 
he came in. Tying a rope about my ankles he pulled me up, 
head down, to the beams overhead, and then welted me with 
a goad without reason or mercy. J\Iy screams aroused the 
neighborhood and a farmer living next door came in, and, 
first knocking down the brute, who was partly intoxicated, 
he cut me down in an exhausted and insensible condition. 

"It was a year later before his continued abuse led the 



48 claflin's rambles 

selectmen to take me away from him and sent me to an uncle 
who lived in Portsmouth, who, strange to say, soon after- 
wards proposed to send me back again to Farmington. I con- 
cluded I would n't go, and unbeknown to my uncle, shipped 
aboard a coaler for Pictou, and was in that hire for some 
time. Hearing that my uncle was looking for me, once 
when in Portsmouth, I got away and drifted out to Strat- 
ham, where I have made my home mainly ever since. It 
sounds incredible, but it is true, that I was compelled to eat 
swill that I picked out of the swill-barrel and laid up on the 
beams to dry, not being allow^ed to eat at the table with the 
family. Often at night, when trying to finish a large stint, 
sewing shoes, I have dropped off to sleep only to be 
awakened by Mrs. Nibs with a tap on the head with a club, 
as she sat up and sewed by my side. The memory of those 
days comes to me now like a hideous dream, and today we 
cannot understand how such things W'Cre allowed to be." 



N CARROLL COUNTY. 



In the Woods up in Carroll County. — TJie Story of the 
Cotton Ram. 



The ride by the way of Rockingham Junction, Dover and 
Rochester to Sanbornville, formerly Wolfeborough Junc- 
tion, up in the woods of Carroll County, was characterized 
by plenteous rain, and I w^as glad to get off the dripping 
cars and change the monotony by a good solid dinner at 
the Junction House, kept by Landlord Remick. In the af- 
ternoon it w^as not quite so bad and I started out to inspect 
the lower half of Carroll County, the results of which in- 
spection follow : 

Carroll County was named for Charles Carroll of Carrol- 
ton, one of the most famous of the signers of the Declara- 
tion of Independence. It was partially settled at the time 
of the Revolution and has been about that way ever since. 



claplin's rambles 49 

I don't know as it will ever be fully settled, as there are not 
so many inhabitants just now as there were 30 years ago. 
It formerly was a part of Strafford County, except Bart- 
lett, Jackson and Hart's Location, which it acquired from 
Coos in 1852. It was set up in county housekeeping by 
act of the Legislature in 18-40, and contains 16 or 17 towns 
and about 18,000 inhabitants. North Conway is the 
largest town and depends upon its boarding house business 
mainly. Wakefield and Wolfeborough are both larger than 
Ossipee, the county seat, which was selected because it was 
near the center of the county. It is about four times the 
size of Brentwood, and has about the same number of post 
offices, besides the court house, county farm and jail. 

I ran across the old Gov. Benniug Wentworth Road, 
known as ' ' Governor 's Road, ' ' and running over the broken 
country, up hill and down dale, with no relation to the lay 
of the land. If it is true that a hill road is best for a horse 
because "they can rest enough going down hill to oft'set the 
pull going up," then this road, and lots of others round 
here, must be very easy to drive over, but I am not a horse 
and I can't say that I enjoy scaling mountains. I visited 
Cotton Valley and saw Cotton Mountain, from which three 
rivers flow in their devious ways to the sea. The Saco, the 
Piscataqua and the ^lerrimack ; and this reminds me of the 
cotton ram story that I heard over at East Candia last 
week : 

It seems that a certain old couple were in the habit of 
making everything they used on their farm for themselves, 
and thus beating the bloated monopolists that are ruining 
the country. One unfortunate day, however, they saw a 
web of cotton cloth and decided that they must have some. 
Not to be swindled by middlemen they fixed a day on which 
to go to the factory where the cloth was made, and buy 
some direct from the makers. The day came, but the old 
lady would n 't go, as she had decided that they might as 
well "send out to Canada and get a cotton ram to run 
with their sheep, and raise their own cotton. ' ' 



60 



claflin's rambles 




EMMA. 



My Emma is of pleasant face, 

Aud gladsome is her eye. 
What holds me? 'Tis her soul's sweet grace, 

Her spirit always nigh ! 

Ah! Yon may talk of wealth of gold, 

Of pearls and richest gem; 
But she to me is wealth untold, 

The best that comes to men ! 

When beauteous glows the morning sky, 

Or sunset's glory rare, 
My Emma makes it brighter still 

In spirit with me there. 



Ah ! Life would be an empty thing, 
Dear heart, when you were passed. 

Abide with me, aud earth shall sing 
As long as life shall last! 





Wife and Home of the Author. 



claflin's rambles 51 

SAM SMITH OF BRENTWOOD. 



He was not a reminiscence by any means, and he wore 
his 70 hot summers and Arctic winters with more than usual 
grace. In fact, as he stood erect on the load of hay one day 
last summer, and drove up to the hay scales with his 
bronzed face, quick eye and hair in which what little gray 
there is doesn't show much; an old man, some years his 
junior, driving up in a buggy, accosted him with: ''Young 
man, how much is hay worth?" I refer to S. A. Smith of 
Brentwood Corner, in whose comfortable home I spent 
Friday evening last, listening to stories of other days. 

Miriam Taylor, who married Phineas Beede of Beede 
Hill, Fremont, the great-grandfather of Charles W. Beede, 
when a young woman, wove rag carpets for the scattered 
settlers, to earn the money with which to buy her wedding 
outfit. Then, with a young woman of the neighborhood, she 
made a trip to Newburyport on horseback, and purchased 
the same, bringing back a large number of bundles and 
packages, the nucleus of housekeeping. She died at an ad- 
vanced age where she had always lived, at Beede Hill. In 
her later years she used to remark upon the different condi- 
tions now prevailing, and tell of how, when she was young, 
her husband used to toil till 12 o'clock at night at box mak- 
ing, and they would be up again at four o'clock in the 
morning, heating the old brick oven for breakfast. 

Mr. Smith lived in Pelham in 1845, when they began to 
get out granite for the underpinning of the mills at Law- 
rence, then called "New City," and he has witnessed its 
growth to its present size. He was also acquainted with one 
of the principal witnesses who figured in the famous Parker 
murder at ]\Ianchester, in 1846. About 1840, he lived at 
Bridgewater, near Bristol, and tells a story of an exciting 
event in the old stage coaching days, when goods were taken 
up the Middlesex canal and the Merrimack Kiver to Concord 
and freighted to Franklin and Bristol with great six-horse 
teams. 



52 claflin's rambles 

There is a long hill leading down into Franklin town to 
where the old tavern of the Colby's stood, with stables op- 
posite. Gustavus Bartlett, son of lehabod Bartlett, who 
ran a general store at Bristol, was coming down from the 
north, along the winding, rushing Pemigewasset, cracking 
his whip over his six great horses to hurry them along, when 
suddenly he saw bearing down the long hill towards the tav- 
ern, the big, lumbering stage coach, bouncing from side 
to side, without driver, the six horses mad with fright, 
plunging and snorting in furious and wild career, straight 
by the tavern they came, so close that the hubs tore the 
shutters and casing from some of the front windows. Gus 
leaped to the ground and ran ahead of his team, and as the 
wild coach came on, sprang at the leaders and seized the 
bridle reins with giant strength. Up and down they 
swayed, and still onward, bearing the daring man along foi- 
several rods, but the}' were mastered, and the loaded coach 
was saved from wreck. 

At the top of the hill the driver had fallen or rolled from 
his seat, whether from the effects of Old JMedford or having 
sat up too late with his own Lucinda, I don 't know, but the 
reins went with him and the lone passenger who sat by his 
side decided to follow suit. He jumped and landed on a pile 
of rocks, sustained a broken leg, and was found later with 
the splintered bone protruding through his leather bootleg. 

It was about this time that the railroad was put through 
to Franklin, now New Hampshire's tenth city, and after- 
wards extended to Bristol, the late home of New Hamp- 
shire's war governor, Nathaniel S. Berry. Of Governor 
Berry, Mr. Smith recalled, that at one time, when he was a 
tanner in Hebron, a campmeeting was held there and a 
hea^y thunder storm coming up in the night, a large num- 
ber took refuge in ]\Ir. Berry's house, he declaring that "he 
could accommodate as many as he had boards in his floor. ' ' 
That is the old New England spirit, and unless the writer 
is greatly mistaken, it is still extant outside of the cities, 
where the spirit of commercialism has largely supplanted it. 



CLAFLIN S RAMBLES 



53 



BLUE DAY YARNS. 



Away back in 1852 the good people of Hampton were 
vstirred np over the shooting of a dog. Ordinarily the assas- 
sination of a common, good-for-nothing canine would not 
have raised a ripple in the community, but it seems that 
there were other and more exasperating circumstances. 

Some of the young men had been disturbing the serenity 
of the local Methodist meetings; yelling "amen" at the 
wrong time; shouting "hallelujah!" Avhen the deacons 
did n 't think the general sense required it, and clapping 
and stamping when applause was totally uncalled for. 
These things had been going on, and while they 




'The Major." 



didn't have any special connection with the dog killing, 
still, when the deacon's dog, which from the days of his 
callow puppyhood had enjoyed the undoubted and undis- 
puted right to rush out and assail every unlucky pedestrian 
with a string of high-keyed and unmusical barks, night or 
day, rain or shine, provided he was not sick or asleep, — I 
say when said dog rushed out that unlucky night wherein 
some person or persons to the deacon unknown, fed him on 
a diet of lead so that he expired, deceased and died, and 
was presumably wafted to the land where no one objects to 
such a harmless nuisance as a barking doc', the deacon's 



54 claflin's rambles 

friends of the IMethodist persuasion eonchuled that some one 
mnst be made an example of, and so one of the "disturbers" 
at prayer meeting was singled out for the horrible example. 
It was a good while ago, and I'm not telling you what his 
name was, but I could, if the "major" told me straight, 
and I guess he did, but perhaps the lines of Elbridge 
Leavitt, a local poet, a brother of Deacon James Leavitt, 
late of North Hampton, will tell the story better than I can : 

THE METHODIST DOG. 

"The place was Hampton by the sea, 

The winter was fifty-two, 
The dog went out all in the night, 

As he was wont to do. 
Some ugly traveler passing by 

With a gun all in his hand; 
He shot the Methodist dog stone dead, 

As we do understand. 

"In sackcloth they mourned for many a day, 

And spread the news around, 
To find out who did kill the dog, 

They said they were surely bound. 
They tried all round, they spied all round, 

But they could n't find out in the least, 
So they took up an innocent man, 

They said, for breaking the peace. 

"In Portsmouth court they had him tried, 

They thought for to make him quail, 
But rather than to pay his fine 

He went to Portsmouth jail. 
He did n't stay there very long. 

So many friends he had. 
They all chipped in and bailed him out, 

"Which made the Methodists mad." 

I guess the Methodists got over it in time, and I know 
that some of the "disturbers" have since these many years 
given a good account of themselves by honest work in the 
amen corner. 



claflin's rambles 55 

It is said of Elbridge Leavitt that he went out in Gen. 
CTil. Marston's regiment to the defense of Washington and 
was at the first Battle of Bull Run. At the first volley from 
the enemy Leavitt dropped — with customary dull thud, 
but he took the precaution to roll into a hollow, and when 
the Yankees had got all they wanted and went charging 
heroically towards Washington, in their desperation secret- 
ing their weapons along the way, prepared if necessary to 
fight their way through to Washington bare handed, 
Leavitt waited until the coast seemed clear and then picked 
his way back to the Potomac without a scratch, and lugged 
three knapsacks and four guns on his back. 

I am now going to tackle a live subject. That is, the sub- 
ject of the following skit is alive, and hence I submitted it to 
him before sending it in for publication. He said it was 
0. K., and so there can be no kick coming from "yours 
truly, 'Capt. ' John Lyman Lamprey, Hampton, N. H., and 
Washington, D. C." 

The author is still at large ! . 

THE PITCHFORK OP MASH HAY JOHN. 

Sing ho-ya-ho for the mashes free, 

At the mouth of Hampton River, 
Sing ho for Bluff John Lamper-ee, 

May his pitchfork last forever! 

For Hobbs' mash, where the high tide flows. 

For nineteen summers together, 
He's mowed across with his ten-foot swath, 

In every kind of weather. 

With his pitchfork true and his good strong arm 
He has "straddled" the hay on the mashes. 

Full twenty-five ton, if there was one, 
Of the crisp and salted grasses. 

And when the roaring winter winds blow, 
His pitchfork again he 's swinging. 

And the twenty-five ton boats to Hobbs' barn. 
To the sound of his weird wild singing. 



56 claflin's rambles 

'Twas the schooner Frank, in the swirling tides, 
Bumped a hole in her planks abaft her, 

And 'twas Cap'n John L. that trod the deck 
Of the ill-starred "fore and after." 

With a jolly crew and a gallon or two, 
They toiled up the whale's back channel; 

To Portsmouth town they brought her round, 
And thus we end this annal. 

If you doubt what is above said as to Cap'n Lamprey's 
"weird, wild singing," I wish you could have heard him the 
night I stopped at Sheriff Hobbs'. The "major" said it 

reminded him of the remark that John G. C 's mother 

made to him one day when he was having a similar spasm : 
"John," she said, "if our old gray mare was as far from 
home as you are from that tune, she would n 't get back in 
six weeks," and then the wailing ceased. 

"If Cap'n Jonathan Godfrey was alive," said Cap'n 
John L. to me, imperiously, "he'd load his boaht with gran- 
ite, sir, and he'd wait till the tide was runnin' out at the 
mouth of Hampton River, an' he'd shove 'er down for all 
he was worth right thro ' thet meesly drawbridge thet won 't 
draw, an', by godfrey, then he'd steer right around ter 
Boston, he would, and he'd send word to Uncle Sam ter 
come and pay the damage, an' he'd see that a draw was 
built that boahts could pass when they was mind ter. 
That's the kind of cap'n he was. by godfrey. 



THE HONEST FORESTER. 



He was au Honest Forester, 
And he dwelt, one of three, 

"Within the shadow of a wood 
Beneath a great Elm tree. 

He had a strong and mighty arm, 

He had a telling stroke, 
And with his shining blade lie cleft 

The heart of many au Oak. 



claflin's rambles 57 

His neighbors they were shiftless men, 

Most shiftless drones were they, 
Who never had an extra stick 

In the fireplace to lay. 

So now our Honest Forester, 

For twenty-seven years, 
His "back pile " never had he used. 

But only the front tiers. 

At last a winter long and cold 

Had settled on the earth; 
The snow was overwhelming deep; 

Of wood there was a dearth. 

His neighbors burned their fences up 

And fodder from the mow, 
And then they came to borrow, 

But he couldn't spare it now. 

For when he reached his rearmost pile. 

Amazed was he to mark, 
The worms had powdered every stick 

And only left the bark. 



BLUE DAY YARNS. 



Stuttering Jim Chase lived iu a red house "down" in 
Stratham. near the electric line to Portsmouth, and like 
DaAad Harum, he was a close man in a horse trade. He 
swapped horses once with the late Charles Towle, who kept 
a stable for many years in Exeter, and after the transfer 
Avas effected some trifling defect, like a missing eye, or a 
disposition to "crib," or a propensity to elevate the heels 
unduly, or all combined, led Mr. Towle to entertain strong 
suspicions that he had been buncoed. So when Mr. Chase 
next appeared at his stable, he went at him furiously, and 
after laying down the laws and equities governing horse 
trades in general, and this one in particular, he closed by 
affirming that Stuttering Jim had got to give him more 
boot ; ' ' more boot, d 'ye hear ? ' ' 



58 claflin's rambles 

B-b-b-bout how m-m-much d-d-d'ye want?" asked Jim. 

"Ten dollars! ten dollars! Ye got ter pay me ten dollars 
I say, 'er I '11 have the law on ye, d 'ye hear ? ' ' 

"I t-t-t-thought ye'd want b-b-boiit fifty," said Jim; 
"b-b-but I say, pardner, a t-t-trade was a trade w-w-when 
I w-w-went ter school, an' I cal'late 'tis now, d-d-don 't 
you?" 

Boardman Brown, peace to his ashes, seems to have been 
a character prolific in quaint sayings and queer situations, 
and as he lived before the formation of the anti-profanity 
society, he may be pardoned for some of the former, and, 
in the interests of good humor, we might even thank him for 
the latter. He always suspected that a gentleman named 
Prescott, whose calling at least is no joking matter (he be- 
ing an undertaker), undertook to put his Exeter friends 
"next" to his trials with a hot water heating apparatus 
that he got an Amesbury plumber to put into his big house 
over on the Kensington Eoad. The plumber had unfortu- 
nately mistaken his calling. He should have been a junk 
dealer or building smasher, as he contrived to split and tear 
the inside of the house hideously, arranged to knock off the 
plastering and incidentally create a nice lot of pipes and fix- 
ings to be sold to the junk dealer in the end. The arrange- 
ment was placed in the bottom of the kitchen range with 
pipes for water running up to the room above. The water 
was supposed to become hot and thus heat the winter atmos' 
phere of ]\Ir. Bro\^^l's sleeping apartment, but unfortu- 
nately that was what it wouldn't do. Mr. Brown fumed 
and swore, but while the api)aratus i:)lainly got him "hot 
under the collar," it didn't heat up the room. Whether 
Prescott was blamable in the matter or not, when next 
"Board." appeared at Exeter all his acfjuaintances from 
Luke Leighton's to the local bank, seemed to be "onto" his 
recent acquisition and appeared absolutely frantic to know 
how it worked, of course with no desire to encourage profan- 
ity, but — they might want such a device themselves, you 
know. 



claflin's rambles 59 

Board, said "don't ye do it; d — n thing don't work at 
all; goin' ter have it taken right out," or " I'd like ter 
know who in 'ell told you anything about it ! " 

Mr. Brown had a balky horse some few years ago, and as 
the time came for mowing his broad acres he, one morning, 
hitched it up with another onto his wide-cutting mowing 
machine. Then the fun began. The horse would n 't 
budge. T'other was willing, but he wasn't. After some 
time spent in fruitless endeavor, Boardman went over for 
Mr. Prescott to come and try his hand. Under his hyp- 
notic influence the span was coaxed into taking a few turns 
around the dooryard, but this did n 't suit j\Ir. Brown. 
"Try 'em out in the field," said he. "No use wasting time 
this way. Put down the cutter bar and be doin' some- 
thin'." As soon as the cutter bar was dropped the balky 
horse refused to budge. This was too much ! "I know 
what '11 fix 'im," declared Board., making a break for the 
house, from which he emerged a moment later with a shot- 
gun and determination w^-it large all over his face. 

"Here," said Mr. Prescott, "I guess if there's any 
shooting to be done you can take the reins." A second 
later there was a tremendous report right in the rear of the 
balking animal, and Uncle Board, was kicked over twice, 
while the team, with reins dangling and the machine, with 
cutter bar flopping up and down, was making double quick 
time for the barn. A barn door ripped ofl! and a pair of 
demoralized horses w^ere the immediate results, while the 
late Jud. Perkins got an order for a new mowing machine 
in the afternoon. Frank Jones' maxim about driving hogs 
would have worked well : ' ' Corn will go further than a 
goadstick, " and "Good judgment is more potent than a 
gun!" 

While on Brown stories, here is one that Warren J. Pres- 
cott told me, and allowing for poetic license, he'll swear to 
it as here set forth : 

Board. Brown and Harrison Rowe, late of Kensington, 
having business in Portsmouth, drove over to Hampton, 



60 claflin's rambles 

where they left their team and proceeded to Portsmouth by- 
rail. Having transacted their hnsiness, they Avere hurrying 
towards the depot, when ]\lr. Brown was struck bj' the idea 
that a jug of Portsmouth rum would be an appropriate gift 
to make himself ; and ]\lr. Rowe, who was an accommodating 
man, though strictly temperate, Avent with him to procure 
the jug and contents. On arriving at the depot there 
were two trains ready to leave ; an express that did not stop 
till Newburyport was reached, and an accommodation, 
which stopped at every station. Into the express got the 
two gentlemen from Kensington, and they were nearing 
Hampton when the conductor came along and gently but 
firmly broke the news that they would have to continue 
their journey with him to Newburyport : this notwithstand- 
ing that j\Ir. Brown swore at him in two languages, and 
called witness that he was a dirty, lowlived minion of a 
soulless corporation. Just then Charlie Robinson, the good- 
natured purveyor of sausages and dead veal, sauntered in 
from the smoker, and, turning a seat over, sat down to com- 
fort the mourners. Spying the jug, and intuitively guess- 
ing its contents, drummer-like he could not resist a practical 
joke, so, dextrously with his feet, he edged the jug over un- 
der his own seat, all the while keeping up a stream of small 
talk, and as the train neared Newburyport, he became very 
voluble, indeed suspiciously solicitous in his advice to his 
two friends to be sure and jump as soon as the train stopped, 
as the "down" train for Portsmouth didn't wait, etc., etc. 
It was after Board, and his friend were safely whirling 
back to Hampton that he awoke to the fact that his precious 
jug was taking a trip to Boston without a protector, as he 
supposed. Charlie took care of the jug all right, 
however. 

The year rolled round and summer came again. ]\Ir. 
Brown and "Sir. Prescott were haying on the "mashes." 
Thomas Milbury was also with them. The innocent and 
guileless undertaker had posted Tom on the jug business, 
and Tom had been telling Uncle Board, about an auction 



claflin's rambles 61 

sale of unclaimed baggage "up" to Boston, whereat Mr. 
Prescott had become the happy possessor of "a jug of new 
rum" for only 25 cents. "Oh, well," sighed Uncle Board, 
wistfully, "I'd a gin a quarter for that myself." At noon 
Mr. Prescott produced the jug filled with — water of course, 
and it was some sport to watch ]\Ir. Brown, when he 
thought he was not being observed, as he squinted sideways 
critically at the jug to see if he could find the trade-mark 
of the Portsmouth firm, muttering to himself that "the 
blamed thing did look sunthin' like it, after all." 

The last time Charlie Robinson met the undertaker he 
asked him if he'd got a message from Brother Boardman 
Brown recently, and the man of doleful duties averred that, 
as near as he could make it out. Board, was looking for an- 
other temperance town like Exeter, as they did n 't have 
an\'thing but Avater where he was ! 



JURY STORIES. 



^Martin V. B. Gile of Raymond, who entertained the Ram- 
bler last week, is one of those genial and approachable men 
whom it is a pleasure to know and with whom one natu- 
rally finds a common ground of conversation. The talk 
drifted round to jury experiences, and as I have been there 
myself, I could appreciate Mr. Gile's position as a non- 
user of the filthy weed in a jury room, with 11 varieties of 
pipes belching out smoke from 11 kinds of tobacco and an 
all night session in prospect — raise the window, please. 

One case tried was that of two young Irishmen, arrested 
for complicity in a murder that had occurred 12 years be- 
fore. It seems that there was a saloon row on Water Street, 
in Portsmouth, in which a man was killed. The murderer 
dragged the body to the water's edge and got these two 
young men to row it out into the middle of the river and 



62 claflin's rambles 

sink it. Winter wore away and summer came with its 
warm currents and boisterous storms and the body in the 
bottom of the channel was loosened and thrown up on the 
Newington shore, where it was duh' discovered and specu- 
lated over and the opinion prevailed that the victim was 
drunk and fell off the Kittery bridge, another case of ' ' his 
own worst enemy. ' ' 

But it chanced that a certain old gentleman of Hibernian 
descent saw the transaction of the sinking of the body, and 
after these long years, having a difficult}^ with one or both 
of the young men interested, concluded that it would be a 
pious idea to get even with them, so he had them arrested. 
The murderer himself was conveniently dead, and after 
hearing the case, the jury very properly decided that the 
young men were fully as innocent as the old sinner, who 
had seen a murder and kept his mouth shut for 12 years. 

Among the most curious cases recalled by Mr. Gile was 
that of three brothers of Nottingham. It seemed from the 
evidence that they deliberately stole eight bushels of wheat, 
a large bag of salt, two bushels of beans and other stuff, 
and hid it under the floor of their barn. 

The case was as clear as daylight and only one of the 12 
jurymen had any idea, as they filed out of the box and into 
the ' ' smoking-room, ' ' that they would n 't get out of there 
till 10 o'clock the next morning, but it was even so. When 
a vote revealed the state of affairs a murmur of incredulity 
went round the room. Surely some fatheaded waybacker 
had n 't caught on, and another vote would fix him, but 
again the same result. They then took a hand vote and dis- 
covered who the culprit was. He Avas a yovmg fellow who 
hailed from one of the Portsmouth wards, and as the time 
slowly dragged by and the smoke accumulated, and the 
rich, rare and racy stories, each and every one of which, — 
like A. Ward's "livin' wild animals," — contained a beau- 
tiful moral, continued to enliven the night hours, one by one 
the 11 other fellows took turns in laboring with the "gen- 
tleman from Portsmouth," v»ho maintained a stoical and 



claflin's rambles 63 

dogged silence. Gradually the hours passed and slowly the 
feeling of incredulity settled into one of disgust. They 
wanted to jam his head into the spit box and one enthusi- 
astic individual offered to knock the above-mentioned head 
off him for a cent, but no one accepted the rash oft'er 
Pressed for his reasons, the man from "Strawberrv Bank" 
at last allowed cautiously that he "might get caJght that 
way himself some time," and of course wasn't going to be 
hard on a fellow craftsman. The oljservations of the^ jud-e 
on hearing the report from our foreman were eminently 
sarcastic. 

The same two brothers afterwards drove to the house of 
a ]\Ir. Fernald at Nottingham Square, in broad daylight 
broke open a side door and stole a large quantity of house- 
hold goods, the family being away in Florida for the win- 
ter. This time they were tried, and as no one on the jury 
had the peculiar scruples against the punishment of theft 
they were sent to state's prison, where they richlv belonged' 



THE GRANDDAD ORDER. 



I 've joined a-mauy orders, 
lu my day aud generation, 

Designed to foster brotherhood 
And fortify the nation. 

The goats I Ve rode are legion, 
And some of them rode me, 

But I 'm alive aud hearty still 
And happy as can be. 

And I was very much surprised, 

A week or so ago. 
To wake up in an order 

I 'd joined aud didn't know. 



64 claflin's rambles 

It 's a very noble order, 
And very ancient, too; 

It' s got the cream of every land, 
And it may yet get you. 

'Tis venerable and honorable, 
And everything that 's grand; 

The noble " Granddad " order, 
The greatest in the land. 

And the little lad whose coming 

Initiated me. 
I tell you, he 's a slick one, 

As you will often see. 

And I feel ten years younger 
Since the mystic tie was made, 

And I joined the " Granddad " order 
(Which I could n't well evade). 



AROUND THE OSSIPEES. 



At West Ossipee I met the genial postmaster, W. II. 
Hobbs, a member of a numerous and respected family in 
this section, that came originally from old Hampton by the 
sea, and had a pleasant chat. This is the place where the 
poet Whittier spent many summers, and the features of the 
landscape have been immortalized by his facile pen. I said 
immortalized— no, God Himself raised these seried ranks 
of eternal mountains, his mighty glacial plows furrowed 
these great valleys; here He dug a lake and there He 
ditched a river, but men have given them names, and genius 
like Whittier 's has made them famous among men. I stand 
corrected, and Chocorua, Paugus, W^onalancet, Passacona- 
way, Whiteface, Ossipee, Kearsarge, Bartlett, Moat, the 
Presidential Range away back behind them, and summits 
unnumbered and unnamed, stand, and will stand, while 
men may come and men may go. Civilization may rise 




The Whittiek Pine. 



claflin's rambles 65 

and fall around their giant feet, but they remain types of 
eternity, silent, grand, awful ! 

Leaving Chocorua village, formerly Tamworth Iron 
Works, I passed the lake of the former name and in due 
time arrived at Pequaket post office. This is about the only 
house containing a live white inhabitant for several miles, 
though it probably does a flourishing business in the sum- 
mer season. This pleasant little trip of 10 long miles 
through Albany to Conway, reminded me of the blue jays 
Lon Moody told me about. He said that only two birds 
were ever seen in New Durham (that's in Straft'ord County, 
you know), and they were blue jays; when seen, the first 
bird was headed south singing "Lord Save Us, Lord Save 
Us," while the other was close behind crying "Clip it, 
clip it." I probably did all the business that could be 
done on that road, which was n 't much, and I know that I 
must have felt like the aforementioned jays when I arrived 
at Conway Corner. Two days in the Saco valley, from 
the Maine state line to Glen Station, and beyond up in 
ancient Jericho, was more profitable to the Pioneer, and 
not disagreeable to Little Pitchers. I met ex-Sheriff John 
Chase here, a stanch supporter of Democratic principles 
and the Pioneer, and the genial John B. Nash, who stood 
up and took his medicine at the last election as the most 
available leader of the forlorn hope. 

When Cyrus, the irrepressible, was up here during the 
campaign — at a rally — ^he called on the chairman to pro- 
vide a glass of water, as Cy. does n 't drink anything 
stronger nowadays. Nash was in the audience, and imme- 
diately called out : 

"I object!" 

"Object to what?" demanded Cyrus, looking fiercely at 
the objector. 

"Kunning a windmill by water," remarked Nash, and 
while the audience caught on, the services proceeded. 

Sulloway got even, however, by telling his audience Nash 
was n 't of any account, anyway, as the representative of 



66 claflin's rambles 

New Hampshire industries. "Why," said Cyrus, "there 
are just three industries in Conway that I know of : An up 
and down churn and two farrow cows." He probably 
had n 't visited the large spool and peg mills, the chair fac- 
tory and the granite quarries of Conway; or else he exer- 
cised his versatile talent as an accomplished prevaricator. 
We do n 't want to be hard on Nash, for he 's been good to 
me, but when it comes to that line of business he really ought 
to know better, after having spent a session or so with the 
"Tall Pine of the Merrimack" in the Legislature, than to 
try and match him. 



THE 'MOBILE AND THE HORSE. 



Wheu Gussie Von Devaxe 

From away off over there, 

Most auy place yon like, 

Comes tearing down the pike 

On his yellow juggernaut, 

His trail all smoking hot, 

You want to clear the way, 

For it really does n't pay 

In front of it to be, — 

You 'd better climb a tree. 

And Gussie says, you know. 

That the poor old horse must go! 

Now I '11 bet a hat. 

And a cookie top of that. 

That at least a thousand years 

After the 'Mobile disappears 

The faithful, safe old horse 

Will be racing on its course. 

The bike had done him up. 

The electric filled his cup; 

The new machine that flies 

Might sweep the sunny skies; 

But none of them will supersede 

Man's ancient, kind and noble steed. 

The horse it is that 's come to stay 

When all the fads have passed away. 



claflin's rambles 67 



SNOWVILLE AND THORN HILL. 



It was 6 o 'clock at Couway Corner one evening and I had 
just left the door of a house where the leige lord was going 
through the chairs at his lodge, and expected to bring home 
some visiting officers, so that entertainment for the Rambler 
was out of the question, when a team clattered by in the 
frozen road. The occupant stated that he was going out to 
Snow^ville. Could I ride ? Yes, just as well as not, and as 
I wasn't very particular where I went, I packed in and to 
Snowville I went, in Easton, six miles distant Farmer 
Pumpkins lives in Snowville, and I stopped with Pump- 
kins. It's a secret, but I'll let you in. I think I'm some 
relation to the Pumpkinses myself. 

Young Josh Pumpkins was at home and he entertained me 
during the evening, or, at least, until he rolled himself up on 
the lounge and went to sleep. I knew when he began he had 
something weighty on his mind and was uneasy under the 
unusual strain. He led the conversation cautiously around 
to the subject of Conway Corner, inquired if I was ac- 
quainted there. "Ever met Fred Green's folks? See a 
girl there 'bout nineteen?" He was playing his cards 
finely, trump was up his sleeve, one trick more and the 
game was his. Rising from the lounge, Joshua stepped to 
the cupboard and carefully pulled out a "fortygralf " rep- 
resenting a freckle-faced, stub-nosed goddess, whose languid 
eyes shone from under her light frizzes with captivating 
archness. "What der yer think of 'er," triumphantly. 
"She's a fine girl, Josh; who is she now?" "She's my 
girl, by gum, an' she's a daisy, too, if I do say it. Had a 
Cln-istmas tree ter Snowville last week 'n' they all said my 
girl had more presents an' any other one there, an' she's 
worth every one of 'em too, every durn one." "That's 
so," said I, "and I'll bet you knew where some of those 
presents came from ; now did n 't you ? " " You bet I did, 



68 claflin's rambles 

but I 'd like to know who the feller was 'at put on the nigger 
baby, I 'd punch 'is gol darned head for him. ' ' 

The conversation laoged at this point. Josh had got the 
burden off his mind and felt better, and I turned to ' ' Peck 's 
Bad Boy" for recuperation. It isn't every day we meet 
with such a dear case of dead-goneness and it was indeed 
refreshing. I sympathized with him. Many years ago I 
was there myself and you know "all the world loves a 
lover," no matter how sublimely green he may be, but it 
was the young married woman whose husband was out in 
the logging camp that broke me all up with her tender solic- 
itude, as to whether David would come home next Saturday 
or not. She made her home with pa and ma, up near the 
intervale, where I stopped one night, and she rung the 
changes on "say, marm, do you think David '11 walk down 
home next Saturday ter spend Sunday 1 ' ' Marm was more 
practical. "Naw, Sal, I don't ; he ain't like to ; if he comes, 
mind ye, he'll ride; ye needn't look for David Croase a 
footin' all the way down here jest ter spend Sunday with 
you, now, I ken tell ye." Sal hasn't been married as long 
as her marm has and don 't know so much about the ways of 
a man. Probably she won't be so refreshingly simple later 
on. 

One night I stopped next door to an old cobbler at the 
foot of Thorn Hill, and as my overshoes were rapidly going 
to that crass-heeled and seedy-soled state from which no 
overshoe returneth, I visited the old man for repairs. A 
lonely old fellow he was, with long hair and a "Si Prime" 
cast of countenance, who had been keeping bachelor's hall 
since the death of his companion, some years before. He 
was wedded to his lasts and had soles for his hire, and I 
verily believe that in the solitude of Thorn Hill the old man 
threw off a quarter from the cost of my job, to make me 
company, such as it was, for an evening. 

When the job was done I tentatively suggested that I 
had heard that he was fond of music. "Oh, yes;" said the 
old man, "just a little, and if you like I'll give you some," 



claflin's rambles 69 

and he opened a black ebony case that sat on the deal table 
at the side of the room, and began winding it up. This ma- 
chine played us six different tunes, three times over. Then 
he had an American hand organ with the tunes upon little 
round rollers, about seventy-five of them, which he ground 
out with considerable satisfaction, winding up by producing 
a German music box that went with a crank and played not 
less than twenty waltzes, quadrilles and polkas from sheets 
of music that looked to my untutored eyes like perforated 
chair bottoms. I undertook to turn the crank and play 
two or three of the tunes, but I noticed that the old man al- 
ways played them right over after me, so I guess I didn't 
get the right twist to the handle. It takes skill to run a 
hand organ. 

It was past nine o'clock when I gathered up my over- 
shoes and umbrella and launched out into a rain-driven and 
turbulent night, leaving my cobbler friend with a jewsharp, 
harmonica and fiddle still to hear from. That night was 
the worst one I ever saw for rain, such a one as preceded the 
great slide at Jefferson a few years ago or that other re- 
markable devastation in the Willey Notch, of more than 
half a century ago, in which a whole family were swept 
with their farm and buildings down into the jaws of the 
mountain. I half expected that the side of Thorn Hill 
would come unbuttoned from the everlasting rocks and 
bring up in the Saco, half a mile below; but it didn't, and 
the next morning, about eight o'clock, as I stood on the 
piazza and watched the steady downpour, I descried a light 
spot in the gray cloud banks. Five minutes later the storm 
had ceased. The winds of the free heavens had swooped 
down over the crests of the eternal mountains and like the 
phantom army in Longfellow's Beleaguered City, the threat- 
ening battalions of leaden clouds were chasing themselves, 
so to speak, down and out of the smiling flood-swept vallej', 
while the morning sun swung gloriously over the cone- 
shaped crest of old Kearsarge. 



70 claflin's rambles 



LEFT! MAJOR COFFIN AND FRIEND HOBBS. 



The middle-aged, red whiskered man who took the Ports- 
mouth train at Hallsville might have been an alderman 
from Ward six, ^Manchester, or he might have been a Rus- 
sian Nihilist, according to your fancy. Certainly he had 
the calm complaisance of a major domo and the easy strut 
of a man well pleased with himself as he swung down the 
aisle, and after depositing an ancient brown leather grip 
in the far end of a seat, proceeded to occupy the other two 
thirds of it himself. The train snorted and swung around 
the bend and the landscape out by Eaton heights shot past 
in panoramic swiftness, and he of the red whiskers calmly 
took it all in for perhaps three blissful moments. Then an 
uneasy expression flitted across that part of his countenance 
exposed to view and the gentleman began to get red in the 
face and excited about the eyes. Had it been summer and 
at a picnic it might have been a case of ants up the back. 
A hurried examination of various pockets — what a lot of 
pockets one will find about their clothes sometimes — seemed 
to confirm his worst fears. He looked up and down the car 
anxiously and then at the bell cord desperately ; the con- 
ductor and brakeman were both conspicuously absent. Then 
the other passengers were startled by the sight of a rather 
stout and somewhat nervous man with a grip tightly 
clutched in one hand, making a wild dash for the smoker, at 
the rear of which friend Ring was roosting on the arm of 
a seat, blissfully ignorant that anybody got on at Halls- 
ville. To pull the signal cord and slow up at ]\Iassabesie 
Pond was the work of a moment, and after Conductor Ring 
had thoughtfully collected 17 cents, the man with the red 
whiskers alighted and the last seen of him he was making 
good time walking back home. 

Reader did you ever — but I won't ask you right out, if 
you never have got left 3'ou can't have any sympathy for 



claflin's rambles '1 

me. I have, but I arrived at AVest Eppiug all right by the 
next train with all my papers, and after -wandering over 
the landscape over towards Fremont and Brentwood, then 
up by Folsom's box shop, which is now shut down, throw- 
ing eighteen or twenty men out of work, and into the 
neighborhood of the Sanborns, Floj'ds, Nichols and John- 
sons, till long after the twinkling little stars had peeped out 
of the winter night I camped down at Frank S. Prescott's 
neat and roomy residence on the Nottingham Road. Here, 
during the evening, among other things I was shown a lot 
of very interesting old china, heirlooms in the family, and a 
picture, the property of Louisa Blake, Mrs. Prescott's 
mother, painted on a planed pine board about two feet by 
16 inches, I should judge, the work of a certain Major 
Coffin, who was taken prisoner to Halifax, N. S., during 
the War of 1812. The picture represents the buildings in 
the prison yard and the adjacent waters of the bay. A lit- 
tle building to the left of the picture was used by the men as 
a school, and Major Coffin, who was a well-educated man, 
employed his time in teaching the boys confined with him 
the three R's so essential in connection with common sense 
to every day business affairs. 

I think ]Major Coffin, after his confinement, returned 
to Epping and died in this neighborhood, but for the benefit 
of "J. H. W." of Newfields, and other good friends who 
have advised me to "take notes, and above all take accurate 
notes," I would say that I am not writing with any pre- 
tense of historical accuracy, and while I have no aspirations 
to the distinction of being an accomplished prevaricator, 
neither would I have any one put up any good money on 
the correctness of all my statements. 

I intended to call on my friend Smith on my way to Ex- 
eter (that is his real name), but when I saw one of those 
little colored cards up by the door with directions how to 
avoid scarlet fever, I concluded to follow the directions and 
went right along without trying to take anything at that 
house. 



72 claflin's rambles 

Even an agent knows when he has got all he wants. 

TMy readers have often seen more or less interesting ac- 
counts of where I have stopped over night on various occa- 
sions. I might insert here for your edification an account 
of a place where I didn't stop one night this week, which 
had an intense interest to me at the time, but the more I 
think of it, the less I think of it. and on the whole, I won't. 

At Friend Harrison Hobbs' comfortable home, where the 
latchstring always hangs out, I found that some changes 
had taken place since last I was there, and that Sadie, whom 
hundreds of people all over the county had claimed as their 
own, as a correspondent for the local press, had been appro- 
priated by Howard Lane, an enterprising young man with 
excellent taste. 

During the evening a neighbor happened in and stories 
were in order. As I am not much of a story teller myself, 
I'll give you a couple "that were told to me:" In Hamp- 
ton Falls there lives a lady who assisted in a historic inci- 
dent that happened at Concord, Mass., in 1859, or during 
the red hot abolition agitation participated in by Garrison, 
AVhittier, Phillips and others, just before the war. One of 
the "others" was Dr. Franklin B. Sanborn of Concord. 
One night he was called to the door by a peremptory rap. 
When he was seized and dragged out by masked men, sup- 
posed to have been emissaries from the South, and but for 
the interposition of his sister, the lady referred to, and 
neighbors summoned by her outcries, he would have been 
kidnapped and perhaps murdered. 

That's a gruesome tale; here's a more cheerful one: Old 
man Beals had five or six old maiden ladies in his family 
whom no census enumerator ever cajoled into giving their 
exact age, though why I could never understand, and 
naturally it was a grand occasion when one of them up and 
got married. The feast was spread with everything 
stomach could wish for. A big wedding cake in pyramid 
form to be cut last, and preserved to sleep on, of course, 
adorned the center, while old man Beals filled the post of 



claflin's rambles "3 

honor adjacent. "Well, gals an' boys, take holt an' help 
yourselves," remarked the old gent, as he stuck his knife 
into the pyramid and sliced off a generous piece. The 
young folks were horrified ; proffers of rich white turkey 
meat, puddings, tarts, candies and nuts were of no avail. 
]\Ir. Beals was very set in his mind, and with the grim re- 
mark that "This 'ere wedding cake is plenty good enough 
for me, ' ' the old man kept sawing into it and hurt the looks 
of it a good deal before the rest of the crowd got their sou- 
venirs. Another case where the old man had n 't got his in- 
structions beforehand, I suppose. 



HIM AND HER. 



If you meet a slim Jim, 

With a shifty gray eye, 
Aud a forehead that slants 

With the line of the sky, 
With thin, straggling hair, 

And a limp as he goes, 
And a meal sack and bean pole 

Hang of the clothes, 

That 's him, 
That's Slim Jim! 
One shoulder its bad padding shows ! 

If you see a sour mug, 

With an eye like a cat, 
And hair puffed far out 

With a big, baggy rat, 
With a smirk for a smile 

Aud a brassy red face, 
With a voice like a file 

And an absence of grace, 
That 's her. 
She 's a burr, 
She 's a wilted and worm-eaten rose! 



74 claflin's rambles 

"FROM GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS." 



Some Rare Old China. — Frank Jones' Farm Described in 
Poetry. — A Man who Followed His Father's Ideas. — 
A Visit to Guinea. — The Man icho Lost His Scalp. — A 
Town that is Lied About. 



From Greenland's icy mountains to Seabrook's ample 
sands, via Stratham, Exeter and Hampton Falls, has been 
the tenor of my way for the week past, and as most of my 
readers know the lay of the land, descriptions are unnec- 
essary. James P. Brackett of Greenland showed me one 
of the finest closets of old china I have seen yet. filled from 
top to bottom "chock full;" but, bless you, he don't use it. 
I dare say it hasn't been used twice in 20 years. It has 
been a prey to the relic hunter also. About two months 
ago a "New York business man" came over from Ports- 
mouth with a friend to look over the old china closet, and 
unbelmown to Mr. Brackett made a selection of some of the 
choicest pieces, which he took away with him. I don't say 
that ]Mr. Brackett kept his eye on me while I was near the 
closet, because he has a better opinion of the Rambler, and 
old china isn't in my line, any v.'ay. The limits of this 
article forbids an extended description of the numberless 
ancient and rare things in the Brackett homestead, but if 
space will allow I should like to place before my readers 
the following interesting lines written by a friend on the 
occasion of a visit to Hon. Frank Jones' farm, near Ports- 
mouth, the descriptive part of which I think will strike a 
responsive chord in every one who has visited the same : 

In walking o'er the velvet green 

The city is plainly seen, 

The impress of His holy hand 

On every leaf and flower. 

The highland art is brought to view 




The KiN(i's Highway in Stratham, N. H. 



claflin's rambles 75 

In colors purple, pink and blue, 
Of every shade and every hue. 
I thought no bud from earth or air 
That ever grew, but what was there; 
And charming figures meet the eye 
On every path we tread. 
Here science, art and wealth combine 
To please the eye and cheer the mind. 
These buildings, ever tall and fair. 
Rise like our mountains in the air. 
The walks and drives are opened wide 
For me and all mankind beside. 

O! Noble man, thy name shall be 
Honored alike o'er land and sea; 
The grand old ship that bears thy name 
Will waft to other lands thy fame. 
This motto, sir, do not forget, 
Excelsior lingers round thee yet. 

My friend very kindly discovered in me a likeness to this 
"noble man" referred to, and while he saw in a modest 
Yolimie of home-made poems I sell occasionally, a strain of 
Byronic g'enius and in my red whiskered visage the Napo- 
leonic Jones cast, I sadly remembered the remark that the 
Hon. Frank made to me about five years ago to the effect 
that I was the "biggest d — d fool he ever met." Evidently 
tastes differ. 

Next morning, vrhen I arrived at James W. Foss', I 
stopped a minute or two to warm up, and heard a number 
of interesting things relating to politics in the ante-bellum 
days when James Foss, Sr., was in the state Legislature and 
Senate, 1842 and 1850, and later, when the Kepubliean 
party was formed. i\Ir. Foss, to illustrate a well-known 
trait of party prejudice, told the story of a man whose 
woodpile was always located under the wide-spreading 
branches of an elm, where the sun and air were compara- 
tively deficient and the wood never got dry ; ' ' "Why don 't 
you pile your wood out in the sun," he was asked. "Well," 
he replied, "here's where father always piled his wood an' 
grandfather before him, an ' by crutch ! if it 's good enough 



76 claflin's rambles 

for them it 's good enough for me. ' ' ]\Irs. Foss has a ' ' ]\Ias- 
athusits" Pine Tree shilling, An. Dom. 1652, with the word 
"New Engiandom" on the reverse side. Mr. Foss also has 
a watch owned by his great-grandfather, Shipmaster Will- 
iam Badger, who built over one hundred ships at the 
Badger Island shipyard, near Portsmouth, in the good old 
days. 

I was in Guinea this week, not near the seat of Cleve- 
land's late war in South America, however, but a suburb 
of Hampton, where lives John F. Williams, who during the 
Civil War was a recruiting officer, sending, I believe, more 
than two thousand men to the front. His father, Robert 
F., from Williamsburg, Mass., traveled through a large sec- 
tion of New Hampshire, many years ago, setting scions of 
apple and other fruit very extensively. In 1828 the same 
gentleman, in company with the owner, traveled and gave 
exhibitions of the first locomotive engine ever in the state. 
They would run the engine the long way of the hall, Mr. 
Williams acting as engineer, and always brought down the 
house when they hitched onto a truck load of passengers 
or freight and pulled it over the track, explaining that thus 
they proposed to run over the hills and valleys of New 
Hampshire in the future. It looked like a pretty good 
joke in 1828. 

I dined Wednesday in a house over two hundred years 
old, the home of Monroe Holmes. A little later I called on 
a stanch friend of our paper, ]\Iary Batchelder, and from 
there rattled away doy\ii on the marsh towards Hampton 
Falls Hill, in a hayrack after marsh hay. The springs 
were not very elaborate, and a short ride sufficed me to 
conclude that walking had its advantages. 

Any one who has ever stopped at George W. Chase's, 
where I spent Friday night, will bear me out in the asser- 
tion that George is good company, but as the Gazette is not 
prepared to enlarge to 16 pages just at present, I refrain 
from telling what I can remember of his stories — of course 
there was much that I forgot. As I remember it, Mr. Chase 



claflin's rambles 77 

and some friends were on the track, one night a few years 
ago, when a Pullman came whizzing by, without a head- 
light, in a hea\y fog, the same train that struck ]\Irs. Dow's 
milk 1?eam at Hampton Falls Station. It was going at the 
rate of a mile a minute, and made kindling wood of the 
wagon and mincemeat of the horse (or perhaps sausage 
meat, who can tell?). 

Another time Mr. Chase and a friend alighted from a rap- 
idly moving freight train, near Seabrook Station. Mr. 
Chase assuming the well-remembered Lord Walker stride 
as delineated in the picture books, and making "45 feet at 
three steps," while his friend was less fortunate, striking 
first on his feet "bounding 30 feet in the air he came down 
on the end of a tie, on his head, and tore the whole scalp 
off, so it hung down over his face like a leather apron. I 
examined his skull," said Mr. Chase composedly, "and 
thought the crooked marks where it knit together were 
cracks, but he seemed to be a little sprung and light headed, 
so I told him it was all right, clapped the scalp back on and 
tied it down with a handkerchief." Life can hardly lose 
its interest for a Rambler like me, while such accommo- 
dating historians as ]Mr. Chase remain with us and beguile 
our leisure. 

As I passed through Seabrook I saw not less than four 
fine new houses that were built within a year, and whatever 
it may have been, it certainly is not now the low down and 
forsaken hole described by the poet when he sang of a cer- 
tain community : 

Their only wish and their daily care, 
Their single thought and their constant prayer, 
For the present world and the world to come. 
Was a string of eels and a jug of rum. 

Seabrook has been lied about. It has a hospitable people. 
It is near larger towns and it has on the ocean road, some 
very eligible sites for summer residences. It is bound to 
grow, I think, as the years go by. May its prosperity never 
grow less. 



claflin's rambles 



RELICS.— THE SALVATION ARMY. 



Another gentleman I met who interested me was B. F. 
Carr, who happens to wear the same name that my wife 
did before she reformed. He told me the Carrs settled 
on Carr's Island, opposite the chain bridge at Newbury- 
port; that the late General Carr, formerly lieutenant-gov- 
ernor of New York, was sprung from that family, and that 
a certain Richard Carr moved to Gilford, N. H., and set- 
tled there, who may have been the great-grandfather of my 
wife. I don't know whether he settled everything or not, 
that isn't material, but I was chagrined to learn that 
Carr's Island is now converted into a beer garden and 
doing a rushing business. In view of my temperance prin- 
ciples I shall never take my wife there to look up family 
heirlooms. They have probably been smashed up for the 
scrap heap long ago and only the name clings to the sacred 
spot. 

Speaking of relies, I secured one at the home of a friend, 
J. L. Eaton, on the South Road, in the form of a poem over 
a hundred years old, and by it I infer that there were poets 
as well as other things, in those good old days, and human 
nature was much the same as at present : 

"The other night as I did creep 
Into the bed to take some sleep 
In Morpheus' arms, with hope to find 
Some rest in body and in mind, 
As a pilgrim in a dreary track 
Throws off the burden from his back, 
Reclines in shades where zephyr brings 
Fresh odor on his balmy wings. 
In gentle stream the waters roll 
And animate a fainting soul 
The tuneful tribe now plumes its wing, 
As virgils stand, nor cease to ring, 
The leafy pines their homage pay, 
Objects around invest the way, 



claflin's rambles 79 

The calls of nature then we heard, 

The rustic traveller obeyed. 

Upon a bank his eyes did close 

And there he sought a short repose. 

Mercurious opens wide its gate, 

Imposing dreams into his pate. 

Fancy now waves the Edon wand 

And spreads new views on every hand. 

One thousand phantoms crowd along, 

Or ghosts, or fairies, join the throng. 

Such terror ou the mind impress. 

His teeming mind creates the forms 

Of raw head and bloody bones. 

Friend, I own I have no notion 

To picture out this strange commotion. 

A fancied evil may supplant 

Poor pilgrim's lot; 

The noxial bugs have me besot! 

Their arrows from their quivers take. 

My naked sides they lacerate; 

The hostile crew both sting and bite, 

Disdain from fear to take their flight, 

They rather die in such a cause 

Than cease to wound one with their claws. 

Now I conclude a sad relation, 

Anent the fair, this exhortation, 

Such enemies you must destroy 

Lest they our beds should oft annoy. 

The poet will, be sure, complain 

If he is bit by bugs again." 

This remarkable production, on a little piece of crumpled 
yellow paper, was found in the Lucinda Martin house in 
Kensington after her death, about a year ago, aged 85, and 
there is no question as to its age. The author has struck 
a responsive chord in every human breast. The date upon 
it is July 10, 1789. 

Friday night I enjoyed the society of Claron T. Tuck at 
Newton Junction and listened to his interesting experi- 
ences and observations in Salvation Army work, in his 
capacity as a special staff captain stationed at Manchester, 
Portsmouth and at other places. 



80 claflin's rambles 

Perhaps there was never a tougher character in the city 
of Haverhill, Mass., than Johnny Mahoney, a city employee 
in the street or fire department, I do not remember which. 
He frequently attended the meetings of the army for the 
purpose of having a little fun, but somewhat unexpectedly 
to himself he happened to get converted, and then It was 
different. For four years Johnny was a zealous soldier and 
officer, though when he first went to the penitent form I 'm 
told the City of Haverhill offered to give the army $100, 
7.nd Johnny a new suit of clothes, if he held out a year. It 
was four years later that poor Johnny ]\Iahoney, in a mo- 
ment of weakness, superinduced by the poor water at Salis- 
bury Beach, took to alleged pop beer as a substitute, and 
whether the beer was drugged or just the ordinary Salis- 
bury Beach article of commerce, it cut short poor Johnny 
in just 48 hours. Mr. Tuck opined that taking Johnny's 
past and the temptations and snares of Salisbury Beach 
beer into consideration, perhaps merciful Heaven could 
aft'ord forgiveness even for a sin like his. 

The old gentleman I met at South Kingston was a little 
deaf, and evidently did n't get the drift of my remarks, for 
after I had diligently opened up the newspaper question to 
him, and he had gradually grown red in the face, and more 
or less excited about the gills, he roared out : "I won 't 
pay it, sor! It's a fraud, so it is. The estate is settled, sor, 
an' 'hu took it anyway?" Time wasted; he was probably 
deaf as the proverbial adder. 

It was here also I heard of Dana Drew, who was in the 
clutches of one of those grasping Haverhill landlords, and 
had been for about nine months. As usual the landlord 
v;as storming around one day, after the rent, which Dana 
indignantly refused to pay. He never had paid any, and 
he never would, but he was willing to be fair about it, so 
he proposed to his merciless persecutor that "he (Drew) 
would move if he (the landlord) would hire the job 
wagon. ' ' It does n 't pay to be mean and small even with a 
landlord. 



claflin's rambles 81 

BARNUM'S AMIABLE GORILLA. 



A gentleman named Barnum, who formerly lived at 
Bridgeport, Conn., owned an amiable gorilla that would 
swallow everything in reach, from a plate of beans to a 
stove lid, and sometimes both of them, with great satisfac- 
tion, and his reach was tremendous. His long, slender 
arms were constantly pawing around for more. He had 
one good quality, however, he was never known to lay lin- 
ger on anything which he couldn't reach. He drew the 
line there. Sometimes things would come up to disturb 
his serene disposition, though not often, and then he would 
turn them over with a mild surprise beaming in his benevo- 
lent countenance and perhaps a smile would play about the 
corners of his mouth, which tied in the back of his neck. 
Some inquisitive soul may want to know what all this has 
to do with my rambles. ]\Ir. Barnum is dead and the 
gorilla committed suicide trying to swallow himself some 
years ago, but the point I w^anted to make was — that is — 
w^ell, it's really gone from me at this moment. The above 
are the facts and the reader is at liberty to make his own 
application. 

Just beyond Hampstead ' ' Peak, ' ' at the home of Luther 
Webber, I saw a copy of the Ulster County Gazette. I try 
to keep up with the times, but can 't always do so back in the 
country, where this paper reached me. It was dated Sat- 
urday, January fourth, 1800, and contained, between 
turned column rules, an account of the death, on December 
14, 1799, of George Washington, who formerly lived at 
Mont Vernon, and of his burial shortly after, with Presi- 
dent John Adams' proclamation, the proceedings of Con- 
gress in relation thereto, and gave the names of the pall 
bearers as Colonels Sims, Ramsey, Payne, Gilpin, Mars- 
teller and Little. The paper also contained a broadside of 
advertisements of runawav slaves, negro "wenches" for 



82 claflin's rambles 

sale, etc. I looked the paper all over to find out where Ul- 
ster County was located, as I am anxious to buy a few slaves 
if I can get them cheap enough, but the paper didn't say. 
That night I stopped at Dr. Jekyll's (beg pardon, Mr. 
Hyde's), at Hampstead, and I want to say that Mr. Hyde 
isn't half so bad a man as Robert Louis Stevenson said he 
was. I've always thought that E. L. S. was a little off his 
base when he told that yarn, anyway. 

Tristram Little, a gentleman over eighty years old, re- 
called in connection with my allusion to Gen. Nathaniel 
Peabody some time ago, that his widow, Abigail, died at 
her brother's, Daniel Little's house (where Tristram and 
his grandson, now live), February 8, 1831. General Pea- 
body spent much time and money in the service of his state 
and country, as history abundantly shows, but not being 
among those choice spirits "the fittest to survive," in his 
old age he was thrown into Exeter jail for the crime of 
being in debt. The jail would have to be enlarged materi- 
ally if the laws regarding this subject hadn't been 
amended since that time. Mr. Little remembers, when a 
lad of five, going to see his uncle ; in a yard near the jail, 
were some tremendous great squashes which ]\Iaster Little 
was gravely cautioned not to steal. "The fact that the 
squashes were bigger than I was, impressed the incident on 
my mind so I never forgot it," said Mr. Little. 

]Mr. William M. Cragin told me about a certain Capt. 
Elias Boynton of Temple, N. H., whom he remembered 
seeing as a boy, who was a soldier at Bunker Hill and lay 
in camp with Washington at Cambridge. They were quar- 
tered in a two-story dwelling house next to a poultry yard 
in which were a lot of hens, turkeys, etc. "The days of 
witchcraft were gone by," the old gentleman used to say, 
"but I saw some wonderful sights in that hen yard. Now 
an old gobbler would stop and look up at the windows 
where the men were quartered, then he would stop to in- 
spect something on the ground, suddenly lie would start as 
if moved by an irresistible impulse and make a bee line for 



claflin's rambles 83 

the side of the house, nor would he stop when he got there, 
but with Avings flapping as if bewitched he would walk 
right up the clapboards and into the open window. Turk 
after turk, and even hens, performed this remarkable feat, 
but — 'they never came back.' " I am inclined to think 
that our forefathers w^ere as little particular about where 
they got their fresh meat as I am about quoting accurately, 
but the above is the substance of the story. Captain Boyn- 
ton used to be visited occasionally by Gen. L. ^Miller, com- 
manding at the battle of Niagara, who was afterwards ap- 
pointed governor of one of the new territories. 

When a doctor lives near a fresh young graveyard, I'm 
afraid of him. Wow! I wish those crematories, one for 
each county, built in the midst of a beautiful park with 
fountains and flowers and statuary, with a gallery of busts 
and easts and portraits of the departed (by busts I mean 
their final busts, not such as they had in early life), I wish 
those crematories would hurry up and come in vogue. It's 
late in the nineteenth century, the twentieth is at the doors 
and yet we continue to plant our loved ones in their wormy 
beds in the same old barbaric way. Dr. Elmer E. Lake of 
Hampstead does n 't live very near a graveyard, and I think 
he hates the sight of one as bad as I do, so I accepted his 
kind invitation and spent Wednesday night at his roomy 
residence. Dr. Lake is a native of Haverhill, Mass., a 
graduate of the University of Vermont, has had a large 
practice and is deservedly popular. When he was building 
his telephone to Arnold's store in Danville, one old gentle- 
man was going to prosecute him for cutting ofl: a few limbs 
that interfered with the line by the roadside. "Court sits 
tomorrow, and I '11 have you shoved for this, ' ' cried the man 
in high dudgeon. "I told him I didn't know much about 
law," said the doctor, "though I happened to know that it 
would take about thirty days' notice to get down to busi- 
ness, but as he claimed he did, I told him to go right ahead, 
and that was the last I heard of it. One of the work- 
men, after looking the wire over, very carefully shutting 



84 claflin's rambles 

one eye and squinting at the end of it critically, gave me 
the alarming intelligence that there wasn't no hole in it 
for the message to go through, and another old fellow told 
me that I'd have to put solder on the ends of the wire be- 
fore I could send anything over it, but," remarked the 
doctor with a twinkle of the eye, "the -wire is up and it 
works beautifully. ' ' Gen. William G. Wilson accommo- 
dated me Thursday night and I slept beside the altar of 
G. A. R. Post 34, of Kingston, Avhich is set up in General 
Wilson's front room. 

When "Mart" Haynes was running for Congress, 
"General" Wilson was at a campfire at- Lake Village, where 
Haynes was present, and in fulfillment of a promise, made 
in jest long before, he gave the genial colonel his instruc- 
tions as follows: First take the Constitution from its po- 
sition under the table, where it was placed on motion of 
Thaddeus Stevens in Congress, early in the war, and put 
it on the table, where it belongs ; second, enforce the consti- 
tutional provision against a titled nobility as it applies to 
' ' The president and directors of banks, railroads and other 
monopolies;" third, destroy the landed aristocracy by caus- 
ing all unearned public land grants to revert to the 
people. 

"General" Wilson has been in two wars: his grandfather 
on the paternal side was, I believe, a soldier in the Revolu- 
tion, while on his mother's side, the same relative, Thomas 
]\IcKeith, was with Arnold on his reckless trip through the 
Maine woods to Quebec. His four grandparents were 
Scotch, English, Irish and French, and "that makes me a 
full blooded Yankee," says the "general," and I guess he 
is. 

L. G. Hoyt of Kingston was in his office when I called, 
and glad to see me. When I told him I was getting a liv- 
ing collecting for newspapers, he looked incredulous. 
' ' When I first hung out my shingle, ' ' said he, ' ' hungry for 
business, the agent of the American Agriculturalist called 
on me with 42 bills for collection. Forty-two letters cost 



CLAFLIN 'S RAMBLES 85 

me 42 cents to send out and some ingenuity to plan np 42 
kinds of punishment if 42 subscribers did not call in and 
settle. Net result was the receipt of 50 cents, on account. 
Then the agent called and wanted to know if I had made a 
remittance. Now look here, said I, I've put in some time, 
labor and expense on this job, and so far I'm just eight 
cents ahead of the game. No, I have n 't made any remit- 
tance, and I am not going to, but collecting newspaper bills 
is too much fun for me; I guess I'll resign." Brother 
Hovt, it takes lots of hustle to succeed as a collector. 



IN "HAWKE" AND VICINITY. 



A7i Original Indian Deed. — A ^YiId Celt Struggle. — TJie 
Town of Hawkc. — Quilts of Many Pieces. — How Sam 
Wilson Issued His Scrip. 



One thing that I forgot to mention last week was the 
original deed conveying most of the land in Rockingham 
and part of Strafford County from the Indians to the 
whites, made in 1629 bj^ J. Wheelwright and Company 
and signed by five Sagamores. It gives me great satisfac- 
tion to know that the white men came honestly by the ter- 
ritory in which I accidentally was born. It was this way: 
The white commissioners met the five rude Sagamores some- 
where in a lonely spot in the woods, and around the roaring 
campfire they sat down and smoked the pipe of peace. 
Then the documents were produced, which the Indians 
did n 't know from a counterfeit $10 bill, and ]\Ir. Wheel- 
wright and the other Puritan deacons got the Indians to 
make some pictures on the bottom margin, then they 
clapped their five several names opposite the pictures and 
the deed was done. Somebodv told me the consideration 



86 claflin's rambles 

was four wrought iron pitchforks and a barrel of rum, Pas- 
saconoway, the head chief getting the latter, which he 
placed in his barn cellar, and the other four big Indians 
afterwards got sick of the bargain, and after using Passa- 
conoway for a fork holder, carried off what was left of the 
rum beyond the Piscataqua. Be that as it may, I saw this 
interesting document at the office of Dr. Elmer E. Lake, at 
Hampstead. 

As I was passing through the woods over towards Daniel 
C. Hooke's, on the road leading to North Danville, I met 
with an adventure with a wildcat. This blood-thirsty ani- 
mal was crouched in a hollow tree about twenty feet from 
the ground, and I was transfixed as I came to the spot by 
an unearthly variety of yowl. Gazing in the direction indi- 
cated, I saw the glaring eyes of the beast fixed upon me. 
Suddenly the animal sprang out of his lair and made his 
way down the tree trunk and came at me on the road. I 
stood my ground, of course, as a brave man should, and 
after a brief struggle captured — Mrs. Scribner's coon cat. 

Some way or other I always get filled up with informa- 
tion when I go to Danville, and what Oliver Hunt don't 
know about the old town, named originally for the English 
admiral, "Hawke, " I shall not try to tell. When the name 
was changed, the Hawke representative at General Court 
urged it on the ground that the hawk was "that wicked 
bird that kills the chickens, ' ' though the real reason was the 
fact that on muster days the neighboring inhabitants used 
to come in to "crow town" screaming "ca-ca-ca" in a de- 
risive manner, very annoying to the good people of Hawke. 

Danville has been a great town for charcoal burning and 
for eccentric characters, one of whom declared that a char- 
coal burner's life was so healthy that "one was never 
known to die of consumption as long as he lived." I be- 
lieve this to be true. "Tuckertown" is reached by a road 
leading to the right as you go by the old church near the 
Peaslees, though no Tuckers have lived there for perhaps a 
hundred years. It has been used in years past as a sort 



claflin's rambles 87 

of smallpox hospital, and as there is no passing on the 
road through Tnckertown, it affords a good place to retire 
to and enjoy a wrestle with a contagions disease. I am not 
sure but that early classic which made snch vivid impres- 
sion on my youthful imagination, describing the trials of 
"Old Dan Tucker" when in an intoxicated condition, may 
have originated in this vicinity. The snow fell heavily as 
I meandered over into West Brentwood, and at F. C. Bart- 
lett's, where I stopped to dinner, I tarried till the clouds 
rolled by, which they did about one o'clock, leaving some 
five inches of the "beautiful" to retard my progress. 

Near Brentwood Corner lives a gentleman who is open 
to engagements in the matrimonial line. He wished me to 
say that his residence on the sunny side of a hill, is com- 
posed of a cross between a country farm pig-sty and the 
late Nat. B. Glidden's blacksmith shop, which once stood 
near the brick church, and here, with his cat, his harmonica, 
his Bible, a superb hand organ, and a case of the grip, he 
is enjoying single blessedness. When I called he was bak- 
ing gingerbread and stirring grip medicine that simmered 
on the stove, and as he sat on my knee and passed his arm 
lovingly around my neck, I was assured that he was capable 
of making any woman happy. Queer people, just a few! 

Speaking of coins and scrip reminded my friend Green 
C. Fowler, of Sam Wilson's way of meeting an emergency. 
Sam lived at Wadley's Falls, and on one of his horse- 
jockeying expeditions to Newmarket, happened in at the 
tavern with a friend, and proceeded to make the remark 
that the governor of North Caroline is said to have made to 
the governor of South Carolina, which was agreed to — as 
usual, but when it came to paying for the drinks, there was 
no change to be had. Sam Wilson was not the man to be 
cheated out of a drink by trifles, so taking a piece of white 
paper, he then and there issued his scrip, "Good for two 
drinks," and signed "Sam Wilson." How I wish Sam 
had lived to be secretary of the United States treasury in 
place of the present incumbent, who assures his Wall Street 



88 claflin's rambles 

friends that "this government can't create money," and 
forthwith proceeds to borrow a few hundred millions of 
the London bankers. AVilson would have shown him a 
trick worth two of that, or else I am mistaken. 



IN CANDIA, DEERFIELD AND NORTHWOOD. 



The week for the greater part has been fair and cold, 
though it warmed up a little on Friday, and on Saturday 
old Jup. Pluvius reigned supreme; it always does when 
Jupiter is around. I went over by "Candia Meetin' House 
on the hill," with its stone basement and the $10,000 sol- 
diers' monument in front, erected by ex-Gov. Frederick 
Smythe (with an e), who was born there and laid the 
foundation of his immense fortune by working as a grocery 
clerk for a hundred dollars a year and his board. My in- 
formant told me that he actually clothed himself out of his 
salary and saved nearly one hundred and twenty-five dol- 
lars, lacking a few cents. This shows the shrewd financier, 
even better than I can. 

It was years later when Charles IMorrill, who also hailed 
from Candia, was recommended by a leading banker to 
the directors of the Derryfield bank of IMauchester as a 
first-class Napoleon of finance, and fitted by the Candia 
climate to hold down the cashier's stool in any bank. After 
Charlie had stolen everything in sight and sailed for South 
America, where he now is, the directors aforesaid found out 
that the leading banker above mentioned had been bitten 
in the same place. "What did you mean," they de- 
manded, "to recommend to us a man you knew to be a 
thief?" "Oh! we had to make ourselves whole on the ras- 
cal," replied the 1. b., nonchalantly. There is honor among 
bankers. 



claflin's rambles 89 

As Aubiu-n was the birthplace of a great poet (I was born 
in Auburn), so Candia was the birthplace of Sam Walter 
Foss, now editor of the Yankee Blade, I believe, and author 
of "Back Country Poems." The only reason why Foss 
doesn't equal Bob Burns is simply because he hasn't got 
a Scotch twist in his tongue. That he is one of nature's 
great poets none can deny. I am too modest to even sug- 
gest that Auburn produced the other one, but really Candia 
and the adjacent country should be proud of the smart 
men raised there. 

Plummer D. Small of Candia village was in Jackson, 
]\Iiss., with a party of gentlemen in uniform, at the time 
Grant was pounding Vicksburg into small bits. Jefferson 
Davis, the great female impersonator, was then playing a 
brief engagement at Richmond, Va., and had left the key 
of his Jackson residence in the well. Of course the visiting 
statesmen from the North wanted to look over his family 
heirlooms, so some of them visited the Davis house and 
came away with a bag full of antique crockery presented by 
IMartha Washington, the colored cook, I believe. ]\Ir. 
Small has a cup from the collection that Jeff, used to drink 
firewater out of, just before delivering his famous speech 
about one Southerner being able to lick five Northerners, 
subsequently revised. J. H. Foster of the Candia village 
post office oft'ered to take the Gazette on condition that I 
stop D. B. Burns' paper, which has been a source of weari- 
ness to Mr. Foster for some time, owing to the fact that Mr. 
Burns died some years ago, and doesn't need the paper at 
this office. As he never left any directions for forwarding 
his mail, I closed with the offer at once. 

Soon after entering Deerfield I crossed the South Road 
that followed a ridge of hills for several miles and entered 
the valley through which runs "Pig Street." I've no ob- 
jection to a valley, as such, but if I lived on that blooming 
boulevard I'd change the name or move. It makes a good 
deal of difference to some people what name they sail 
under. I knew of a family of Leathers, once, four boys, 



90 clxVFLin's rambles 

and every blessed one had a different name, three by act 
of the Legislatnre, and one, Jack Leathers, by nature. He 
said, "by Hunks, he was born a Leathers, and he was going 
to die one." 

I passed over by Deerfield "Old Center" (there is a new 
Center of bustling activity now). This is said to be the 
coldest place on earth by a man who has a farm he wants 
to sell in another part of the town, but it is very sightly, 
especially from the apex of the graveyard on top of the 
neighboring hill. This graveyard contains a fine collection 
of marble and granite for a country yard, and represents, 
with the other yards in town, as much cash value as half 
the town would sell for today. It costs high to be securely 
planted with a dead weight on top, so to speak, but we must 
have it. Bluff old Ben Butler first cocked his eye at the 
light of day over the Deerfield hills, and Joseph Thomas 
Crane, a young man of 85, who lives at the Parade, used to 
help Ben assist the principal at the old academy where they 
went to school 70 years or so ago. Mr. Butler afterwards 
removed from Deerfield. 

I spent the night at the home of Mrs W. D. Adams. IMr. 
Adams is a well-known musician and teacher of dancing, 
at present in Florida. I saw a man with a yoke of steers 
and a long wooden runnered sled, about the raggedest man 
I ever met (and I was taken for a tramp myself last week), 
and I wondered at it, but when I learned that he owned 
more land than any other man in Deerfield, I took pity on 
him and trusted him for the Gazette three months. Oh! 
I 've got a great heart all right. I may have forgotten some 
things I wanted to say about Deerfield, but never mind. 
It's only four miles through the woods to Northwood Nar- 
rows, where I hoped to get about two dollars out of J. ]\r. 
Fitts, Esq., formerly of Epping, but unfortunately he had 
a receipt for the bill, so I sat and rested, while ]\Ir. F. be- 
guiled my leisure. ]\Ir. Fitts had a gold watch once, also 
a hired man: after the hired man went away the watch 
wasn't there. This was a remarkable coincidence, but IMr. 



claflin's rambles 91 

Fitts kept still about it till one clay he saw the watch in a 
Pittsfield jewelry store. The monogTam had been scraped 
off, but the number of the watch identified it perfectly. 
He has not recovered the hired man yet. 

Northwood is the home of Coe's Northwood Academy, 
Prof. J. W. Brown, principal. It stands on an elevation, 
with the waters of a beautiful lake below it at Northwood 
Center, and must be a very beautiful place in summer. E. 
S. Coe, the wealthy lumber king of Bangor, Me., has taken 
a deep interest in the academy, and done much for its wel- 
fare. There are 26 pupils attending the present term. 
Northwood Kidge is a very sightly village on the top of the 
watershed between the Piscataqua and the Suncook and 
]\Ierrimack valleys, from which, on clear days, the white 
sails of vessels passing New Hampshire's coast can be 
plainly seen, twenty-five miles or more away. A North- 
wood man informs me that this is a good town to start a 
shoe factory, as there are hundreds of first-class shoemakers 
here, now idle, or occupied in other business. At the pres- 
ent wages earned by shoemakers, I don't kiiow as such an 
enterprise would be an unmixed blessing. Shoemakers 
can't afford to work for nothing and board themselves, any 
more than I can. 

This reminds me of R. E. Tuttle's poverty party, held at 
his home in North Nottingham, Thursday evening, Feb- 
ruary 27. About sixty were present, and every one dressed 
appropriate to the occasion. It is awful easy to have a 
poverty party nowadays, for you don't have to hire the 
mourners — we are all in it. 

At David L. Langley's I was shown a quilt cover con- 
taining numberless pieces of brilliant satin from a Haver- 
hill hat factory. These little angular bits of cloth might 
have all been wasted otherwise. I got some dinner and the 
history of a graveyard contract at James A. Johnson's, and 
afterwards went down the Yank-e-ty yank and Slam-bang 
Railroad track that runs from Nashua to Rochester, over 
987 sleepers, more or less, as lightly as a bedbug in a mid- 



92 



CLAFLIN S RAMBLES 



summer night, and tried to negotiate with George W. Pliira- 
mer, the auctioneer poet of South Lee, for a pair of over- 
shoes. He did n 't have any big enough, so I pressed on to 
Wadley's Falls. Here Layn and Company have a slipper 
factory, and employ 30 hands at present. They shut down 
during the sunnner to give the boys a chance to hay awhile. 
They take the hay fever along in June. The shop has been 
running nine years, and it is about time to have an article 
in the warrant to see if the town will exempt them from 
taxation for 10 years more. 

When I rapped at ^Ir. Sewall's back door an agitated 
feminine voice asked me who it was. I reassured her by 
telling her it was only a mere ordinary tramp, and the door 
opened about eight inches, while a curly tow head and 
shining gray eyes, filled the gap. I did n 't go in, and being 
assured there was nobody at home, trudged down to Mr. 
Pendergast's, where I spent the evening playing cards. 
I'm a greenhorn at high-low- jack, and stood my hand on a 
lone jack of clubs. It proved to be the only trump out, and 
I scooped four points, high, low, jack and the game. They 
say it takes a fool for luck. I learned here that when 
Proctor, the milk man, sold out to Hood, the cans, creamery, 
and so forth, figured at $1,600, while the good will brought 
$8,400. This shows the value of good w^ill. I have a large 
supply of it that I will sell away down. Leave all orders 
at the Gazette office. 







j^^:^^<-^^ 






,7. 



claflin's rambles 93 

A STRING OF INCIDENTS., 



Out in the Storm. — Presented with a Bow-wow. — A Woman 
who ^Vorhecl Like a Slave. 



As I remarked last week, it rained, and old Jup. Pluvius 
was held to be responsible, but up to this writing the old 
fellow has failed to show up and settle for the damage. 
The weather is usually a very trite subject, but with the va- 
rieties and incidentals of that article to which we have been 
treated the past week, none need complain of ennui in the 
least. It has snarled up the railroads and manufacturies 
of New Hampshire so that a month won't straighten them 
out, and 3,000,000 of dollars would n 't adjust the damage. 

I spent Monday night at Haverhill, a guest of the Web- 
ster House, where the genial factotum who has twice tried 
to get me to smoke a cigar at his expense, told me in the 
morning that there were 17 feet of water in the cellar. At 
any rate, there was water a foot deep on the far side of 
Washington Square, and the basement of the government 
building contained five feet. I attended a levee at the 
depot, where an anxious crowd Avas trying to get out of 
town. It's wonderful what a traveling people we have be- 
come since the days of steam and electricity. A tie-up of a 
few hours in a city like Haverhill, discommodes thousands 
of travelers on pleasure or profit bent. After waiting just 
four hours, a train was made up for the East; "down 
East, ' ' they illogically call it, though every schoolboy knows 
that Portland is northeast of Boston, and hence should be 
referred to as "up East." It never is, however, and that 
illustrates the power of habit. 

I have always been too poor to keep a dog, especially 

Avhen the tax collector came round : so when Mrs. S., of East 

Epping, ofi:'ered to give me one, I was overwhelmed by my 

good fortune, and accepted at once. It is a cross between 

7 



94 claflin's rambles 

an English mastifiP and a Newfoundland, and is still of ten- 
der age. I got him in a basket with a loose cover and rode 
proudly home in the baggage car with my new acquisition. 
As I was passing up the railroad embankment to the Clatlin 
mansion, the wind lifted my hat, and it sailed gracefully 
into the gloom of Tuesday night. I had the dog basket in 
one hand and my grip in the other, and deciding that the 
grip would be less likely to walk off than the dog would, I 
set it down by the rails and instituted a successful search 
for my hat. As I expected, the Claflin family w-ere tickled 
about to death over the dog, and it was not till I arrived 
home Saturday night that I learned that the animal had 
fleas. Literally alive with them. In the stilly night we 
heard him from the depths pawing his hide as the elbow of 
his hind leg plays a rat-a-tat on the cellar door, anon, a 
poor little howl floats up to us. I don't know what to do 
with him. The store man recommends me to put him in 
hot water till the vermin all get onto his head, and then 
cut it off, while a sympathizing neighbor suggests kerosene. 
I know kerosene is good for a lot of things. I knew an old 
bloke once who used to try to get drunk on it, but he also 
tried to light his pipe after he was full, and there was an 
explosion. Our acquaintanceship suddenly terminated 
about that time. Our neighbor says the pup 's long, shaggy 
fur can be saturated with the oil and then be set on fire, but 
I suspect they are jealous to think we have got a dog and 
they haven't, and they want to get even. I think I shall 
paste him over Avith anguentum and then pick off the fleas 
and drown them. 

There is an old chap over in Deerfield who lives awaj' up 
"in the mountains," who is worth a lot of rocks, besides 
■what he raises on his farm, but when he goes to Boston he 
wears a ragged suit and goes barefooted, just like any old 
tramp. He wants the folks to love him for himself alone, 
and not for his looks. He is fond of music, and when he 
went into a Boston music store to select a piano, all the 
hoodlums in sight followed him in, "dey wanted to see the 



claflin's rambles 95 

bloke get fired out," you know; such is human nature. 
The salesman graciously allowed him to sit down and try a 
piano or two, but when he selected one and asked the sales- 
man to take the price out of a thousand dollar bill, the lat- 
ter fainted. I went over to Deerfield mountain, trying to 
find the eccentric individual and sell him some newspapers, 
but got off the trail, and after freezing my chin, came out 
in an exhausted condition at Jonathan Smith's. A drum- 
mer's cheek and an agent's chin are supposed to be frost 
proof, but that is a mistake, so far as chin is concerned, 
and I had to pound it with my arctic overshoe for some 
moments before I could limber it up sufficiently to tell ]\Ir. 
Smith about the advantage of swapping a newspaper for a 
night 's lodging. 

I met a woman over towards Leavitt's Hill who had had 
a hard time. When seven years old her mother, who was 
compelled to work in the mills in Rhode Island, gave her 
to a kind-hearted ( ?) farmer to bring up and educate. He 
set her to work in the fields like a little slave, doing boy's 
work. Then he educated her to get up at 3 o'clock in the 
morning to milk a lot of cows before breakfast, and they 
used to save all the dishes till she got through at night, to 
do up in the evening. AVhen she fell sick under hard 
work and numerous beatings, the kind farmer's wife had a 
worm remedy of senna and salts, mixed with pounded egg 
shells and molasses. The girl got to having fits, as many as 
17 in a day, but later on her mother came up and got her 
' ' at the point of a pistol, ' ' and put her to work in the mills. 
At 17 she was married. She has a crippled sister living 
with her, and one child, "but we are poor folks," she said, 
pathetically. "My husband works round for the farmers, 
or in the woods chopping, and they don't want to pay him 
anything, only now and then a little pork and potatoes."' 
This is only one of numerous woeful tales more or less con- 
nected with the general subject of newspapers, that I hear 
daily. I am becoming a man of sorrows, and acquainted 
M'ith (other people's) griefs. 



96 claflin's rambles 

A TRIP ''DOWN IN AlAINE." 



He Visits Mud City. — A Grange Store with a "Short 
Crop." — Farmers who Wanted a Chair Factory, and 
They Got (?) It.— A Call on Joshua, the Target of 
"Put."— A Building not Braced-Well. 



Mud City, Me., March 16. 
People who never travel much have no idea of the lux- 
ury experienced in dating a letter beyond the borders of 
one's own native heath. ]\Iud City is located in the town of 
Fryeburg, at least three quarters of a mile from the state 
line, in the valley of the "old" Saco River (there is a new 
Saeo). Fryeburg was named for Gen. Joseph Frye, and 
was settled before the Revolution. It lies in a wide valley 
between Pleasant ]\Iountain on the east and the Kearsarge 
Range and old Baldface and the foothills of the White 
Mountains on the west. Originally the Saco wound back 
and forth through this valley, like the trail of the serpent, 
of which it was said : 

It twisted in and twisted out, 
Putting the looker-on in doubt 
Whether the snake that made that track 
Was going north or coming back. 

Each recurring spring flood left lakes of stagnant water 
that made trouble and damage for settlers who attempted to 
occupy the meadows, so that about 1820 a company was 
formed to cut a canal across the neck of the Saco, a distance 
of two and one half miles, with a view only of flowing off 
the surplus water. There were kickers in those days, as 
well as now, and as the Hon. Eminent Domain was not as 
prominent as he has since become, several hardy pioneers 
went in the night, I am told, and completed the ditching 
and let the water through the neck. It went with a rush. 




On the Saco." 



claflin's rambles 97 

A wide bar was formed across the bed of the old river and 
the Saco was at once shortened some 36 miles, while its bed 
Avas lowered some 10 feet, and the bottom dropped out of 
numerous wells along the old river road. 

The Fryeburg" farmers had a flourishing Grange store 
here until a few months ago, when some uneasy chap de- 
manded an investigation into its affairs, and a shortage of 
$8,000 was discovered. The hired man who kept the books 
hadn't any idea of what had become of the money. The 
treasurer only knew that he always signed his name when- 
ever he was asked to (he makes a beautiful autograph). 
The auditors certified that the last time they looked into the 
drawer there were $500 in it. The Grangers appointed a 
committee to hunt up all the bills payable, and after care- 
fully figuring it up, declared an assessment of $30 a head 
on the membership, which has racked the local granger all 
out of shape. There is a large vacant store to let at Frye- 
burg Center, with a trade coming in all the way from Nor- 
w^ay, Sweden and Denmark (Maine) via the Fish Road and 
]\Iisery Street, and even over beyond INIud City and Fag 
End. This Grange store is not the only cooperative scheme 
that has been tried in Fryeburg, by any means. 

A few years since, the citizens felt the need of more in- 
dustries, and after all the heavy taxpayers had got the 
moderator elected and gone home, the fellows who pay a 
poll tax and haven't anything else to do but hang on till 
the last gun is fired at town meeting, went to work and 
voted $16,000 to build a chair factory. The idea of a good 
job is— bottoming chairs. The Fryeburg farmers had long 
felt the need of a chair factory, so they borrowed the money 
and built them one, and got a firm to come in and run it 
for them. The firm made a few carloads of green ash 
chairs and glutted the market — they all came back and the 
factory is now shut down, but the town has a lot of good 
four per cent, bonds out, and the interest is working right 
along, nights and Sundays. 

When I came up here last Monday I stopped off half an 



98 claflin's rambles 

hour in Dover to see a gentleman who has been frequently 
described by Railroad Commissioner Henry M. Putney of 
Manchester, in the columns of the Mirror. I always 
thought Putney was rather inclined to be sarcastic in those 
descriptive articles of his, but a good Eepublican like 
Joshua L. Foster doesn't mind Put's little pleasantries. I 
am assured that it was pr-r-incipal, not post office, that ani- 
mated Mr. F. in deserting Cleveland Democracy. Most of 
us want both principal and interest, but the Dover Dem- 
ocrat (Republican), is in the game for principal alone. I 
viewed the place where the Bracewell block stood, over the 
Cocheco River bed on Central Avenue, prior to the flood. 
It seems that Mr. Bracewell, who was at the time (some 
seventeen years ago), agent of the Cocheco Print Works, 
got the directors to lease him the bed of the Cocheco River 
for a term of years, under an act allowing them to throw a 
dam across the said stream. But it seems that the Legis- 
lature did not contemplate the erection of this block by the 
dam site, hence, though he took care to build strong and 
brace well, when old Cocheco humped itself there was a 
sound of revelry by night, and Mr. Bracewell's property, 
together with a portion of the Central Street iron bridge, 
slid gaily into the flood. A good many are advising Mr. 
Bracewell to brace up and put up another block. It seems 
too bad, after a man has been drawing $500 a month for 
17 years out of a building like that, to have it so summarily 
dealt with, but then, this is a life full of uncertainties. 
When next I write I shall be out of Mud City. 



A WORD POLITICAL. 



To have been three times a candidate for governor of 
one's native and well-beloved state, is an honor, at the 
hands of one's chosen party, as great as to have been 
elected, at the hands of some corporation which might be 



claflin's rambles 99 

in control of said state ; and so, at the risk of hurting the 
feeling's of the corporation crowd, I propose here to set 
forth the reasons why good citizens should vote for the 
principles of the party that saw fit to choose me as its hum- 
hle representative. 

I refer to the International Socialist Party. 

It is, and has been for many years, recognized (by those 
w'ho do a little thinking for themselves), that certain pri- 
vate interests, known as trusts and monopolies, control ab- 
solutely the so-called public services and most of the public 
necessities of modern life. The old parties, recognizing the 
common knowledge on this subject, have of late made sev- 
eral propositions, designed to assure our fellow-citizens 
that, while they may not be the great and only "trust 
busters" in existence, they are prepared to control the 
trusts by regulation and limitation of their powers. 

This, however, is impossible! The control of a thing 
goes with the o\\Tiership of it, and hence those who do a 
little thinking may as well dismiss the propositions of the 
old parties first as last, for that they will be dismissed is 
inevitable. 

"Let the nation own the trusts," or the trusts will con- 
tinue to own the machinery of government, and operate it 
in their interests, as heretofore. There is one way, and one 
way only, whereby, without bloodshed, the trusts may be 
taken and operated by the nation. That way is through 
the ballot box, and by endorsing the political party which 
stands for the socialization of the means of production and 
distribution. 

The American voter is often told that he is a sovereign, 
with a big S. On the contrary, he is a big CHU^MP, all in 
capitals ! 

Ninety-nine per cent, of him, whines that his lot is a 
hard one, and growing harder by reason of the exactions 
and encroachments of these trusts. He admits all you say 
as to the cause and the cure of his ills. He knows in his 
heart that you are right ; and in spite of all this, he whines 



100 claflin's rambles 

that nothing can be done, and with an idiotic smile on his 
face, goes to the polls, year after year, and votes for ' ' Some 
more of the same, please!" 

But, dear friends, the case is not so hopeless as it might 
be. I was a big chump myself before a good friend (Ed- 
ward Bellamy in "Looking Backward") shed light into my 
mind which enabled me to realize the cause and cure of the 
ills of our present modern life. 

I do not regard the case as hopeless. A half a million 
American voters have at this writing (1906), registered 
their votes for Socialism. That is only a small part of the 
actual number of Socialists in America. 

Revolution is in the air and in the nostrils of the virile 
element of the nation. Old ideals and methods are passing 
away. A revolution in the methods and means of conduct- 
ing manufacture and commerce necessitates an economic 
and political revolution in keeping therewith. That revolu- 
tion is now upon us. 

]\Iy advice to you, reader, if you have a vote or a voice, 
is to begin right now to use them in the interests of a speedy 
transition from the reign of capitalism to the just and 
equitable sway of Socialism. 

Why fear to cast your ballot 

In the noble cause of Truth? 
It shall garland age with glory, 

It shall give success to youth! 

What matter if the multitude 

Today are deaf and blind? 
Tomorrow, with its triumph, 

They'll be trailing on behind! 

What matter if the daybreak slow 

Glows dull in distant sky, 
Your watching eye has seen it 

As the long, deep shadows fly. 

And the day so long in coming, 

E'en now is at the door. 
When Man shall gain his freedom 

And be a slave no more! 



